


A Hunger to Swallow the World

by serenbach



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Battle of Five Armies, Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, Dragonborn Thorin, F/M, Gold Sickness, HRBB14, Happy Ending, M/M, The Hobbit Big Bang 2016, dragonborn bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-03-01 20:12:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2786171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenbach/pseuds/serenbach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long ago, when the first Dark Lord shaped the first dragons, the Valar did not leave the peoples of Middle-Earth defenseless against them. They reached out to certain heroes and formed them into heroes capable of killing dragons and making sure they stay dead. These heroes were known as Dragonborn. </p><p>Now in the Third Age, when in the wake of Smaug's death it's revealed that the ancient dragons of Morgoth are somehow being revived, a Dragonborn is needed once more. But instead of the Valar choosing one hero, they instead split the Dragonborn's soul between two unlikely candidates - Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield.</p><p>They have to discover who is behind the resurrection of the dragons before the most feared dragon in Middle Earth, Ancalagon the Black is revived, and learn to master their new powers. However, with the Arkenstone lost in the horde, and the siege of Erebor broken by the elves having to withdraw and protect their lands from the orcs streaming to Dol Guldur, Thorin is still struggling with goldsickness. </p><p>He is only snapped out of it when a second dragon attacks Erebor... </p><p>(No previous knowledge of the Elder Scrolls Universe is needed to follow this fic!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KuroCyou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuroCyou/gifts).



> This is my second entry for the Hobbit Reverse Big Bang!
> 
> This is based on [kurosmind's](http://kurosmind.tumblr.com/post/95122395956/first-rough-sketches-for-my-skyrim-dragonborn) wonderful prompt, so please make sure to check out these awesome pictures!
> 
> Also, thanks again to [Synchrony](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Synchrony) for the beta and general pep-talking.
> 
> I have cherry-picked bits of Elder Scroll lore to use in this, but it is all Middle-Earthified and explained, so please don't worry if you haven't played the game!
> 
>  
> 
> **EDIT May 2016: So I was useless at finishing this fic, and with[kurosmind's](http://kurosmind.tumblr.com) agreement I entered this fic into the Big Bang to get it all finished up. Stand by for forthcoming art by [mithrilbikini](http://mithrilbikini.tumblr.com/) and make sure to check out the original concept art by [kurosmind!](http://kurosmind.tumblr.com/post/95122395956/first-rough-sketches-for-my-skyrim-dragonborn)**

Bilbo watched, frozen in horror, as Smaug spread his wings and headed in a slow, deliberate spiral towards Lake-town. The same moonlight that had shone down on the keyhole and filled him with such hope glimmered darkly off the dragon’s scales and filled him so full of dread that Bilbo felt like he was choking on it.

They had failed – _he_ had failed so badly and now the people of Lake-town were going to suffer for it.

He almost startled out of his skin and fell off the side of the mountain when a heavy hand fell onto his shoulder, turning him roughly around until he was face to face with Thorin Oakenshield.

“What did you think you were doing?” Thorin demanded angrily, something frantic in his expression. “Chasing after the dragon like that?”

Bilbo didn’t take offence to his words as he might have done once. He knew Thorin well enough now to hear the concern behind the anger.

“What are we going to do, Thorin?” He asked instead, barely able to hold back his panic. “Smaug is going to Lake-town! Fili and Kili are still there, and Oin and Bofur! And Bard and his children, and all those people, and I…”

“Calm down, Master Baggins,” Thorin said, though he looked anything but calm himself. “Go back inside.”

“But…” Bilbo objected, his eyes inexorably going back towards Lake-town.

“Inside,” Thorin ordered. “We may not have much time before the dragon returns.”

He followed Thorin’s urgings and returned to the dwarves huddled up inside, stepping over the puddles of cooling, hardening gold, staring out at the balcony with wide eyes and fearful faces.

“He’s gone to Lake-town, then?” Balin asked, his expression grim.

Thorin nodded once, shortly, his face dark.

“What now?” Nori wondered, and the rest of the dwarves all chimed in with questions.

“We must fortify the walls. See what you can do about the barricades – make it difficult for that beast to get back in.”

They nodded their agreement, and went into a spirited discussion on how best it would be done.

Bilbo wasn’t able to help much as the dwarves all began frantically heaping up rubble, blocking up the balcony that Smaug had flown out from, but he darted around in the midst of them, picking up smaller stones and piling them up.

“Are you alright?” Balin asked him, after they had both paused to take a few mouthfuls of water.

“What about the others?” Bilbo burst out, twisting his hands together in front of him. “Smaug was headed right to Lake-town!”

“I know,” Balin replied gravely. “But Fili has a good head on his shoulders and Oin has survived through disasters before,” he continued, but Bilbo could see that he too was desperately concerned. “They’ll see that the others are safe. Smaug won’t forget us. We need to be ready for when he returns.”

“It’s my fault,” Bilbo said, staring at the waterskin without taking a sip. “I tried to confuse him about what I was doing, but he worked out that we had come through Lake-town. If I hadn’t mentioned the barrels - ”

“Bilbo,” Balin interrupted. “You did more than we could have expected. None of us were prepared to face the dragon. The best thing we can do now is ready ourselves.”

Balin patted him on the shoulder, and returned to help Gloin lift a piece of broken pillar taller than Bilbo.

Bilbo wasn’t sure how long they worked, but daylight was creeping into the sky before they were interrupted by a heavy, rumbling sound, shaking them where they stood even within the mountain, even at their distance from Lake-town.

Bilbo scrambled up the loose wall the dwarves had built, ignoring the shouts from behind him and the bits of rubble that came away under his feet. It was tall enough now to hinder a dragon, but there was still enough room at the top for a determined hobbit to squeeze through, and he could no longer bear not knowing what was happening in Lake-town.

When he stood on the balcony once more, he stared in horror at the horizon. It was thick with dark, coiling smoke and the glow of the fire was visible from where he stood watching, his hand over his mouth.

He heard a thud behind him, and some Khuzdul swearing, and then Thorin was beside him.

“Halfling, get back inside,” he demanded, his own eyes settling on the fire and smoke before them. His face looked grey and strained, but Bilbo ignored both his sharp words and his order. He could not tear his eyes away from the disaster before him.

As they watched, Smaug rose visible above the smoke, rising high and turning back towards Erebor.

“Go!” Thorin ordered, pushing Bilbo behind him. “Get back behind the wall.”

They were too far away to see what happened, but suddenly Smaug’s graceful flight faltered, and instead of heading towards them he started plummeting towards the ground.

“The black arrow,” Thorin breathed. The hand that had been pushing Bilbo towards the wall started to grip and hold his arm tightly instead, but Bilbo was so engrossed in watching that he didn’t even notice. “Do you think it’s even possible?”

As Smaug fell, he started to glow, so brightly that Bilbo could no longer stand to look and squeezed his eyes shut, conscious of nothing but his racing heart. When he opened them again after Thorin let out an exclamation that Bilbo didn’t understand, Smaug was gone.

But now _Thorin_ was the one who was glowing, a bright white light surrounding him, and emitting from him. When he followed Thorin’s incredulous stare and looked down at his hands, Bilbo realised that he wasn’t the only one. He was glowing too.

 

<

 

[art by mithrilbikini](http://mithrilbikini.tumblr.com/post/145135094882/and-heres-the-art-i-made-for-serenbach86s-hbb/)

“What was that?” he breathed.

“It doesn’t matter,” Thorin said, letting go of his arm. There were so many conflicting emotions on his face that Bilbo couldn’t read them all, but foremost was a fierce, well-contained joy. “The dragon is dead. Erebor is ours again.”

He climbed back over their rough barricade, leaving Bilbo to follow. After one last look at Lake-town, he did. By the time he made it over the top, Thorin must have shared the news, because he was almost deafened by the sound of cheering dwarves.

“Nori, Bifur, Gloin,” Thorin called over the din, and the dwarves instantly quietened down to listen. “Get ready to go back to Lake-town. Find the others and bring them back.”

They all nodded, and went to get their packs and weapons.

“The rest of you,” Thorin continued, “Go back to the treasury and search for the Arkenstone. That is the priority.”

“Thorin…” Balin started, but Thorin ignored him.

“Bilbo, did you see the Arkenstone?” Thorin asked him, and Bilbo nodded, still in shock at Thorin’s statement.

“I did,” he replied. “It was buried under the rest of the horde when Smaug started chasing me. But Thorin – ”

He was cut off when Thorin walked away from him, headed back through the winding pathways of Erebor to the treasury and all of a sudden, Thorin was that unfamiliar, distant person once more, the same one who had drawn his sword on him just at the suspicion that he might be hiding the Arkenstone from him.

“I don’t understand,” Bilbo said quietly, and Balin sighed deeply next to him.

“We dwarves love the treasures we find in the earth and the crafts we make with our hands deeply,” he replied, his voice grave and sad. “But in the Line of Durin, that love can be too deep and become an all-consuming obsession. I have worried for Thorin ever since he made his intention to reclaim the mountain known.”

“Will he be alright?” Bilbo asked. The thought of Thorin being lost and twisted by gold made something ache inside him.

“Don’t give up on him, laddie,” Balin told him, clapping him warmly on the back, but his expression did not quite hide his concern. “The best thing we can do now is find the Arkenstone. Once he has that, Thorin will hopefully be able to focus on something else.”

“Did you not see how much treasure there was?” Bilbo asked in exasperation. “The Arkenstone is lost somewhere within that pile! It’ll be years before we find it!”

Balin didn’t argue, but he still headed out from the balcony room after Thorin, leaving Bilbo alone with nothing but a heavy sense of foreboding weighing him down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, sorry about the delay in posting this! Now Christmas is all over and done with, it'll be back to my original plan of twice a week chapters!

At Thorin’s request, Bilbo pinpointed where he’d last seen the Arkenstone, as close as he could remember anyway, and the dwarves started their search where he indicated. There was an undercurrent of disquiet as the dwarves searched. They were concerned for their missing members, if the snippets of low anxious conversation that Bilbo overheard were anything to go by, but they would also occasionally get distracted by the gold, throwing pieces at each other to examine.

Bilbo poked unenthusiastically at the treasure, glancing anxiously back at the entrance to the secret door. Nori, Bifur and Gloin had barely been gone for an hour; he knew it was far too soon for them to return with any news, but that didn’t stop the nauseous, anxious twisting in his stomach.

In truth, he was glad that the Arkenstone was lost somewhere beneath the surface of the horde. Smaug’s warning rang in his memory and he couldn’t shake the feeling that Thorin finding the Arkenstone at this point would do him more harm than good. Thorin was searching feverishly through the treasure, not stopping even for the meagre lunch Bilbo managed to scrape together with a tense and silent Bombur, or at Balin’s gentle urgings for him to take a break.

As Bilbo searched across the treasury, following the scattered trail where Smaug had chased him and remembering how it had felt to be powerless under the dragon’s gaze, he came across a fallen pillar. There were many such broken things in the treasury of Erebor, but this one caught his eye because of a peculiar engraving on the side of the pillar. 

It was distinctly un-dwarvish, and looked uneasily as if it had been scratched into the pillar by a massive hand – or a massive claw. The longer Bilbo stared at them, the more it seemed to swim in front of his eyes, and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

He reached out his hand, not knowing why but wanting to trace the scratches with his fingers.

They seemed brighter somehow, almost as if they were glowing -

“Bilbo,” Thorin called from behind him, drawing his attention away. “What have you found?”

“Nothing,” Bilbo replied, turning to look at him. “Just some scratches.” But Thorin had already gone back to his search, and Bilbo was talking to himself. He sighed, anxious again, and skirted around the pillar, prodding a goblet with his toes.

He kept searching until he heard loud, stumbling footsteps coming from the direction of the secret passageway. Bilbo scrambled to join the other dwarves, who formed up into a defensive wedge with their weapons drawn.

“Thorin!” The rest of the Company relaxed imperceptibly as they recognised Gloin’s voice, but Bilbo stayed tense. It was far, far too soon for them to have come back which meant something must have happened. 

The three of them came rushing in, looking winded and agitated. For some reason, Bifur had a raven perched on his head. 

“Thorin,” Gloin called again, and Thorin looked between him and the treasure for a moment, obviously torn, before replying.

“Why have you returned so soon?” Thorin asked, and the raven perched on Bifur’s head took flight and flapped towards Thorin as he raised his arm for it to land.

“The ravens have returned to Erebor!” Gloin exclaimed, between heaving breaths, his hands braced on his knees. “And they bring news.”

“Hail, King Under the Mountain,” the raven said. Bilbo gaped at it, but none of the dwarves seem to think that it was odd. “I am Roäc, son of Carc.”

“What news do you bring me, Roäc, son of Carc?” Thorin asked with well-concealed impatience. 

“I have come to tell you that the dragon is dead, and that there are four dwarves on their way to Erebor.” There were relieved cries from all the dwarves, and even Thorin smiled. “But they do not come alone.”

“Who comes with them?” Thorin asked, and Bilbo knew that he was not the only one taken aback by the depth of anger in his voice.

“They are joined by an army of Elves and Men,” Roäc said, and there was a low mutter echoed around the treasure chamber.

“Is it an escort or are they prisoners?” Balin asked.

Dwalin snorted. “There is little difference,” he replied.

“Alas, I could not get close enough to tell,” Roäc answered, and Thorin nodded grimly.

“Arm yourselves,” he ordered the dwarves. “Find weapons and armour that suit you in the treasury. Roäc, would you fly to the Iron Hills and ask their lord Dain to aid us?”

“Willingly,” the raven replied as the dwarves scattered into the treasury, and he flapped his wings and flew out over the top of the barricade. 

“Should we not see what they want before we assume the worst?” Bilbo asked Thorin quietly.

Thorin glowered. “Keeping my kin and company away from me is an act of war, Master Baggins,” Thorin replied as he strode to the part of the treasury where armour and weapons had been heaped in a haphazard pile.

Bilbo and Balin exchanged a resigned glance before they followed.

\--- 

“Who comes before the Gates of Erebor?” Thorin bellowed down over the walls as a rider pulled his horse to a stop below them. 

Bard pulled his hood down. “Thorin,” Bard called up, his voice urgent. “Discussions of the treasure can be left for another time -”

“There is nothing to discuss,” Thorin growled in response.

“But we have urgent news,” Bard continued as if he hadn’t spoken.

“So urgent that you brought an army to my door?” Thorin asked scornfully. 

“Thorin, please listen,” Bard pleaded.

“Come back without your army, and without those elves,” Thorin replied scornfully. “And we’ll talk.”

Thorin went to turn back into the mountain when a call of “Uncle!” halted him.

It was Fili, who ignored all the calls from above and the rope that Nori tossed down for him. “Gandalf has returned with urgent news. Please come down and listen to him.”

“I will not leave my mountain undefended again,” Thorin told him firmly, though his voice was much kinder. “Bring your brother and the rest of our company with you and join us. The wizard may enter as well, if he wishes.”

Fili shifted, hesitant, and Thorin’s eyes narrowed. “Where is Kili? Are you not free to leave?”

“We are,” Fili assured him hastily. “But Gandalf’s news concerns the elves and men as well as us.”

“Let me go down and listen to the wizard,” Balin murmured in Thorin’s ear. “That way we can still hold the mountain, and there will be enough of us down there to free ourselves, if necessary.”

Thorin hesitated for a long moment and Bilbo thought he was going to refuse. However, he replied “Not alone,” in a gruff voice and Balin bowed his head in acquiescence.

“I’ll go too,” Bilbo offered hastily, anxious to share his concerns with Gandalf. Thorin’s gazed raked over him before he nodded once, brusquely.

“Two members of my company will come down and speak to the wizard,” Thorin declared. “If any harm comes to them, or those already in your camp, or if they do not return, there will be war between us.” 

“I swear that nothing will happen to them,” Bard replied, relief clear on his face. 

Balin clambered over the wall, as deceptively spry as always, with a farewell clasp of the hand to Dwalin. Bilbo followed him, though he paused at Thorin’s brief touch on his shoulder.

“Be wary, Burglar,” Thorin told him softly, and Bilbo nodded, trying to be as reassuring as possible before he scurried down the rope. 

Fili slapped Balin gratefully on the back, and ruffled Bilbo’s hair. He tolerated it with much grace than he usually did, as he was so relieved to see him well.

“Thank you,” Bard said to them thankfully. “I’ll meet you back at the tent,” he added to Fili, who nodded as Bard rode away.

“What news does Gandalf bring that is so urgent?” Balin asked.

“Oh just something about an approaching army of goblins and orcs, and something else about dragons,” Fili answered, his jovial tone belied by his serious expression.

“Orc armies?” Balin repeated.

“ _Dragons?_ ” Bilbo echoed.

In unspoken agreement, they increased their pace, Bilbo almost jogging to keep up with Balin and Fili.

\---

The tent Bard had mentioned was a large canvas, distinctly Elven in style, erected half-way between the ruins of Dale and Erebor. Fili pushed aside the entrance flaps and Bilbo trailed in after him and Balin. 

Bard had arrived before them, and Thranduil was sat on a high backed chair salvaged from somewhere as if it was a throne, eyeing them with cool disdain. Bilbo recognised the blond and auburn haired elves who had been in the party that had captured them, standing either side of Thranduil’s chair. Also in the tent were the missing members of their party, who offered cheerful greetings and head-bumps regardless of the presence of the Elvenking and Bard.

Lastly, there was Gandalf, and Bilbo almost melted in relief to find him there.

“It’s good to see you, Gandalf,” Bilbo told him fervently, and Gandalf clasped his shoulder warmly. 

Thranduil’s remote gaze turned on him then. “I was unaware of the presence of a Halfling in your company,” he said, directing his statement somewhere between Gandalf and Fili.

“Didn’t you ever wonder how we managed to escape from your dungeons?” Kili asked, his voice full of glee and untainted by illness. The red-haired she-elf glanced at him briefly, a smile quickly flittering over her face before it went still again. 

Thranduil focused on him more sharply and Bilbo conjured up his blandest, politest smile. “Your palace is really quite lovely,” he said, and Thranduil frowned as the dwarves around him snickered.

“Enough of this,” Gandalf said then, before the situation could escalate. “In our investigations of Dol Guldur, Radagast and I came across a great and ancient evil, one that nearly killed me.”

The tent went instantly silent. Bilbo supposed that, like him, no one else listening had ever thought of Gandalf being so endangered.

“It was only due to the timely aid of the Lady Galadriel and the rest of the White Council that I escaped. That evil has been vanquished, for now at least.”

“Then what did you find that was so concerning?” Balin asked intently.

“There is an army of orcs on its way to Erebor,” Gandalf informed them gravely and there was instant outcry from all the dwarves in the tent. “But that is not our only concern.”

“That sounds pretty concerning to me,” Bofur pointed out, the rest of the dwarves agreeing with him loudly.

“This evil had many servants,” Gandalf continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Some we banished along with their Master. Others… we found evidence of a new order of Dragon Priests.”

The only one in the room that reacted to that was Thranduil, who paled dramatically. The blond elf at his side stepped forward to pour him a drink hastily. “That cannot be,” Thranduil replied to Gandalf. “That order perished long ago. There are no dragons left now that Smaug is dead.”

“What are Dragon Priests, Gandalf?” Bilbo asked, and Gandalf sighed. 

“Long ago, when the first Dark Lord Morgoth shaped the dragons, he also granted some of his servants the power both to provide for their needs and to resurrect them should they be killed,” Gandalf told him, his voice serious. “If the Dragon Priests have re-formed, they will be raising dragons, and that means we are all in grave danger. There have only ever been a few in Middle-Earth who possess the power to kill a dragon and ensure that they stay dead.”

“The Dragonborn,” Bard said slowly, though he flushed when all eyes in the tent turned to him.

“Yes,” Gandalf agreed. “They are known as Dragonborn. They have been blessed by the Valar and had their souls changed to ensure that they can cause permanent death to the dragons. Earendil was one. Turin was another.” 

“Does that mean that Smaug is not truly dead, then?” Fili asked uneasily. 

“No, he is truly dead,” Bard answered. “I know the legends. As the dragon fell from the sky, his flesh burnt away in a bright white light. The Dragonborn, whoever they are, has absorbed his soul, like the old tales say.”

Bilbo glanced down at his hands then, suddenly a little apprehensive at that.

“If that is indeed true,” Gandalf replied, “then Smaug has died a true death and will be troubling us no more.”

“But where is that Dragonborn?” Balin asked. “Do you feel any different?” he asked Bard.

“Aside from being homeless and hungry, no,” he replied, somewhat snidely.

“Would this Dragonborn… glow, by any chance?” Bilbo asked, and every eye in the tent turned to him.

“Yes,” Gandalf replied slowly. “They would.”

“Only, when the dragon fell, Thorin and I were on the balcony…”

“No, not him,” Thranduil groaned. “If Thorin Oakenshield is the Dragonborn then we have already lost.”

Bilbo had to raise his voice above all the sudden angry shouting. “Thorin wasn’t the only one who was glowing! I was, as well.”

“Bilbo,” Gandalf said gravely, “Are you sure of this?”

Bilbo nodded. “Certain, Gandalf.”

“Two Dragonborn?” Balin mused. “None of the legends speak of this.”

“I wonder,” Gandalf said musingly. “Bilbo, have you by any chance come across any… well, they would look like strange letters, scratched into the stone, while you were within the Mountain.”

“Like this?” Bilbo asked, stooping to draw the strange symbols in the dust on the floor of the tent. He had no trouble recalling them; it was as if they had engraved themselves in his memory.

Gandalf sighed deeply. “Exactly like that. How did looking at them make you feel?”

“Dizzy,” Bilbo replied. “It’s like I know them, but I don’t quite know what they mean. Gandalf, I don’t understand,” he continued desperately. “I can’t be this Dragonborn. I’m not a warrior! I’m just a hobbit and I - ”

“Bilbo,” Gandalf said calmingly. “You have never been “just” a hobbit. Now, when you return to Erebor, take Thorin and go and look at those letters. If one of you, or both, is the Dragonborn, you will know it.”

“Do you really think it would be… prudent to send him back to the Mountain?” Thranduil asked Gandalf slowly. “If this Halfling is truly one of the Dragonborn -” in all honesty, Bilbo could not blame him for the doubt in his voice – “should we not keep him with us? I doubt the King Under the Mountain has any interest in the happenings outside of his treasury.”

The dwarves all objected to the statement loudly, especially to the scornful tone in which Thranduil used for Thorin’s title, and Bilbo took two steps to the side so that he was standing closer to Fili and Balin. “I am not leaving my friends,” he said hotly to Gandalf.

“I would not expect you to,” Gandalf stated calmingly. “Besides, I think you will need to return to the Mountain to find out for sure whether you or Thorin, or both of you, are the Dragonborn.”

“What then? What if they are?” Balin asked, stepping closer and putting his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder.

“We will discuss it further once we know for sure,” Gandalf replied, “And we will come up with a plan to deal with the army coming against Erebor…”

“Not without discussions of the division of the treasure,” Thranduil interrupted. “If my people are expected to fight this army – one that has come for you, not us – it will not be without reclaiming certain items that belong to us.” 

“That’s what you are thinking about?” Kili asked scornfully. “And you think that we are greedy!”

“Watch your mouth, dwarf,” the blond elf snapped back. Kili bristled in response, and the auburn-haired elf stepped quickly between them, but Balin interrupted smoothly.

“We will leave decisions about the division of treasure up to our _king_ ,” he said serenely, slightly emphasising the title. “We should return and inform him of what we have discussed here.”

“Yes,” Gandalf replied, obviously wanting to prevent war from breaking out in the tent. “Bilbo, send word as soon as you and Thorin have looked at those letters.”

“I will,” Bilbo replied, his mouth dry, and voice croaky. Gandalf gave his shoulder another affectionate squeeze, and ushered him out after Balin.

Before he left, Fili looked at Bard. “I will speak to my uncle about the plight of your people.”

Bard looked surprised, but he nodded. “Thank you.”

Bilbo found himself in the middle of the group of dwarves as they led him back to Erebor.

“I mean, it’s silly, isn’t it?” he found himself babbling. “Me, a Dragonborn? I could see Thorin, but not me. I’m hardly the heroic type.” 

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Bofur said, slinging an arm around his shoulder.

“Thorin wouldn’t be the first dwarven Dragonborn, that’s true,” Oin mused, fiddling with his ear-horn. “But I have never heard of a hobbit one.”

“Gandalf never mentioned a dwarven Dragonborn,” Bilbo observed, slightly side-tracked from his panic. 

“Aye, well,” Oin replied. “We don’t share our history with outsiders.”

Bilbo’s step faltered slightly at the implication of them sharing it with him, but before he could dwell on it too long, Kili tugged his arm to speed him up.

“Come on,” he declared. “We’ve got to tell Uncle!”

\---

Thorin, as it turned out, was not inclined to believe it. “It is a trick,” he replied after Balin repeated Gandalf’s news. “A trick to get inside the mountain and steal from us.”

“Thorin, why would the wizard trick us? Not only is there an orc army on its way, there could be more dragons…”

“No,” Thorin replied flatly, and turned back towards the treasure.

Bilbo stepped forward and took his hand.

Thorin stared down at him, a little bemused, but didn’t pull his hand away. “What are you doing?” 

“There is an easy way to tell if Gandalf is telling the truth,” Bilbo pointed out, and tugged Thorin in the direction of the fallen pillar. He would have had no chance of shifting Thorin if he had truly not wished to move, but he followed willingly enough. 

As they came close to the pillar, the writing started to glow again, brighter and brighter, and Bilbo could feel it like a pressure in his head, making him squint his eyes against the light. In just a few heartbeats, the letters seemed to burst in front of his eyes, as sudden and as clear as one of Gandalf’s fireworks, and the word slipped into his mind as firmly as if it was something he had known since childhood. 

_Yol_. He understood it as clearly as Westron. 

“Fire,” Thorin breathed at the same time as him, somewhere between awed and angry. His grip on Bilbo’s hand was painfully tight. 

“Dragonborn,” Balin said, dismay in his voice. “Both of you. What are we going to do now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep forgetting to mention that I have a [tumblr](http://serenbach86.tumblr.com/) now. Please feel free to share headcanons or cry about BOTFA with me (I have now seen it!).
> 
> Also, to those of you who are familiar with Skyrim, if there are any dragon shouts you would like to see Bilbo and Thorin use, feel free to mention them here!
> 
> Thanks again to [Synchrony](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Synchrony) for beta'ing this even though she is poorly at the moment!


	3. Chapter 3

Bilbo stood hand in hand with Thorin for a long moment, staring at the letter scratched into the pillar, before Thorin drew his hand away. Bilbo curled his fingers into his palm, his hand feeling oddly bereft and cold.

“This changes nothing,” Thorin said, stepping away from him. “The Arkenstone is still lost. We will do nothing until it is found, and the forces arrayed against us are dispersed. One way or another.”

“Thorin, Gandalf came to warn us about an orc army,” Balin said in a calming, reasonable voice.

“The people of Lake-Town need our help,” Fili added urgently. “Smaug destroyed everything!”

“Enough!” Thorin declared, his voice echoing around the suddenly silent chamber. “Enough,” he repeated, more quietly.

“But what about the dragons?” Bilbo asked in the abrupt hush. “If Gandalf is right, and there are more dragons coming…” He trailed off at Thorin’s furious scowl, and forced out a nervous-sounding chuckle. “Well, one dragon was quite enough, don’t you think?”

“And what would you do if another dragon came, Master Baggins?” Thorin asked him, in that quiet, intense way that Bilbo had already learned to dislike. “When you could not even do what we hired you for and get past Smaug without awakening him?”

Bilbo stared after him as he stormed towards the treasury, feeling as if he had plunged through a trapdoor and into water again, but this time he felt far colder than he had in the river. He stood there numbly, watching his friends trail after Thorin back into the treasury, some of them patting him on the back or the shoulder, and felt very far away from home indeed.

\---

That night Bilbo slipped away from his companions, over to where Fili and Kili had strung up an old training dummy, still coated in dust and ash despite being hit with almost every ornate weapon that they’d found piled up in the treasury.

He pulled out Sting and struck half-heartedly at the training dummy with his sword. It didn’t even wobble. Bilbo let out a shuddering breath, and tried to put a bit more force behind it for his next strike.

“You need to work on your form,” Dwalin observed from behind him, startling him so much that he missed the dummy entirely.

“Yes, well,” Bilbo replied, a little embarrassed. “Blind panic seems to have rather worked in my favour, so far.”

Dwalin snorted. “You should try and get some sleep, hobbit,” he said, not unkindly. “We’re not going to get much of a chance, the next few days.”

Bilbo bit his lip, staring down at his blade, taking some scant reassurance in the fact that it was not yet glowing. “I don’t think I can,” he admitted quietly. It was just all so overwhelming: the army of elves and men, the approaching goblins, Thorin’s obsession with the Arkenstone, Thorin’s words to him earlier that shouldn’t have hurt so much but did…

The fact that he still wasn’t exactly sure what being Dragonborn meant didn’t help either.

Dwalin sighed and shoved a pile of priceless treasure onto the floor, and sat down heavily on the rubble that he revealed. “Thorin is my king, and I’d follow him to the end of the earth no matter how many times he had to stop to check the map, but sometimes he needs a right kicking.”

Bilbo stared at him in shock and Dwalin shook his head. “We wouldn’t be here if not for you. Thorin’s not forgotten that, not really. It’s just being back here, and all that treasure…”

Dwalin was worried too, Bilbo realised, and that both concerned and comforted him.

“What can we do?” Bilbo asked, precariously perching on a broken pillar next to him.

Dwalin sent him a very faint smile, but didn’t seem to have an answer. “Stick near me if you end up in the battle,” he said instead. “After, I’ll teach you how to use that little knitting needle of yours.”

It didn’t need to be said that there was a big “if” in that offer, but despite the danger, he couldn’t deny that he was touched by the offer. “Thank you,” Bilbo replied. “I don’t suppose you know anything about how to be a Dragonborn, do you?”

“Best talk to the wizard or my brother about that,” Dwalin suggested, and then added in a softer afterthought, “Or Ori, maybe.”

“I will,” Bilbo said, grateful for the suggestion, before surprising himself with a jaw-cracking yawn. “Oh, excuse me,” he added afterwards.

“Go on, now,” Dwalin ordered gruffly. “I’ll keep watch here.”

Bilbo stumbled to his feet, tiredness overwhelming all of a sudden. “Goodnight Dwalin – and thank you.”

Dwalin nodded, taking out a cloth to polish the warhammer he had found in the armoury, as Bilbo headed back to the sleeping pallets Bombur had set up for them.

He slept deeply, but uneasily, seeing fire dance behind his eyelids all night long.

\---

The next day passed much the same. Bilbo sent a raven with a message to Gandalf to let him know that both he and Thorin had seen the dragon-writing on the wall glowing, before returning to the treasury to help Thorin look for the Arkenstone.

He was heartily sick of the treasury at this point. The glimmer of torchlight against gold gave him a headache and he was fed up of pricking his fingers and toes on spiky crowns and bracelets.

Mostly, he was concerned about the way Thorin was blind to everything around him aside from the content of the treasury, the frantic way he sifted through the endless piles of gold looking for the Arkenstone. He seemed so _different_ from the Thorin he had come to know on their journey, all his drive and determination to reclaim his homeland seemed to have become misplaced somehow, his focus entirely channelled into finding the Arkenstone.

Bilbo had found some more dragon-writing while looking through the treasury. One word read  but he could only get a vague impression of what it meant. The word didn’t come to life the way it had when he looked at them with Thorin, but he when he tried to tell him about it, Thorin’s only reaction was to order him back to the search for the Arkenstone.

When Bilbo found another dragon word,  he didn’t even try to bring it to Thorin’s attention, and resigned himself to not knowing the meaning of them. He hoped that Balin was right, that once he had found the Arkenstone Thorin would be able to focus on other things once more, but as time passed with no sign of it, and no sign of Thorin abandoning the search, the more Bilbo doubted that finding it would do Thorin any good.

There was still no sign of the Arkenstone by the end of the day, much to Thorin’s displeasure. He kept searching through the night, alone, and Bilbo knew he wasn’t the only one lying awake and worrying about him.

\---

The next morning, Dori came running into their little campsite, two of Roäc’s ravens wheeling around his head.

“Thorin!” Dori called, his eyes wide and excited. “The ravens say the orc and goblin armies are retreating!”

“That can’t be right,” Dwalin protested in disbelief, rising to his feet. “They can’t have just left.”

“I assure you, Master Dwarf, that they have,” the raven squawked, offended. “We followed them as closely as we could. Their leader, a large, scarred orc, is leading them southwest.”

“Towards Dol Guldur,” Balin observed. “Gandalf mentioned that there was great evil there.”

“That evil cannot touch us here,” Thorin said stubbornly. “Return to the search.”

“You know that’s not true, laddie,” Balin murmured.

Thorin’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t gainsay Balin. “Dori, Dwalin, keep watch on the battlements. The rest of you, go back to the treasury.” He walked away without a backwards glance, the rest of the Company milling behind him, loudly discussing where the orcs could be going.

Bilbo, however, trailed after Dwalin and Dori, staring down at the mingled men and elves below them.

“It’s a good thing that they’ve gone, though, isn’t it?” he asked, and beside him Dori and Dwalin exchanged a look.

“It’s certainly given us some breathing room,” Dori said, in an obvious attempt to reassure him.

“They’ve not given up,” Dwalin explained bluntly. “Orcs don’t give up; especially not orcs led by Azog the Defiler. They’ve been called away for a purpose, and I doubt that purpose means anything good for us.”

Bilbo shivered a little at the thought, and accepting Dori’s offer of a blanket, joined them in their watch. Both of the dwarves seemed to be waiting for something, and sure enough, barely an hour later the sound of elf-horns rang through the air, and the golden-armoured troops began to form up and leave.

“There we are,” Dori murmured in satisfaction.

“The elves are leaving!” Bilbo exclaimed, standing up to look over the battlements. Dwalin pulled him back down again.

“They’ve not gone yet,” he chided. “One of them might still look behind.”

“Yes, they’re leaving,” Dori explained. “If there is an army moving through Mirkwood, Thranduil cannot risk having the bulk of his army here. He’ll probably leave a few scouts, nothing more.”

“Leaving nothing between us and Dain’s fighters but a handful of fishermen,” Dwalin drawled in satisfaction. “I think we can safely say that the siege is broken.” He stood up and stretched. “I’ll go and tell Thorin. It might cheer him up. You’d better come too, hobbit, he’ll be wondering where you are.”

Bilbo nodded, glancing one more at the withdrawing army, before trotting after him. The feeling of foreboding had not faded, but he found that he could breathe a little easier.

\---

The dwarves took the news of Thranduil’s retreat with predictable volume – even Thorin smiled, before his attention was drawn away – and Bard’s continued presence did not seem to disturb them. All of the dwarves seemed to agree with Dwalin’s assessment that Bard alone would be no threat to them.

The celebration didn’t last long though, as Thorin returned to searching, and the rest of his Company followed his lead. Only Bombur remained behind, and he poked at their supplies with a despondent expression.

“Has Thorin eaten anything today?” Bilbo asked Bombur quietly, and he shook his head.

“Perhaps Thorin is as tired of fish as I am,” Bombur replied. Bilbo helped him unpack their supplies, until they were interrupted by another raven, the one that he had sent with a message to Gandalf.

“The Grey Wizard wants to talk to you and the king as well, if he’ll come,” the raven informed him, snapping his beak at him when Bilbo attempted to pet him on the head.

Bombur offered the raven some fish, and Bilbo stood with a little sigh. “I’ll go and find Thorin, then,” he said to the raven, who ignored him.

It didn’t take long for Bilbo to track down Thorin. The treasury was large, but he followed the sound of determined clinking, and found him searching frantically through the treasure, his attention all on the piles of gold in front of him. He didn’t look up as Bilbo stood in front of him.

“Thorin,” Bilbo said, to no answer. When he reached out to touch Thorin’s shoulder, he turned and regarded him with utter surprise.

“What is it, Master Baggins?” Thorin asked, and while there was a hint of impatience in his voice, he didn’t seem quite as remote as he had been.

“Gandalf sent a message with one of the ravens,” Bilbo told him, trying to keep his voice cheerful. “He would like to talk to us, Thorin,”

Thorin scowled, and Bilbo’s heart sank. “The wizard just wants me to leave the mountain undefended. He didn’t want us to enter in the first place.”

“He didn’t want us to enter without him, that’s not quite the same thing,” Bilbo tried, but he could already see Thorin’s attention fading, his eyes slipping back towards the treasure. “So let me talk to him!” he blurted. “Finding out what he knows can only help us, Thorin.”

Thorin’s eyes came back to his face, his eyes clearing once more. “You?” Thorin asked, but his tone was concerned, not incredulous, much to Bilbo’s relief, and some of the hurt from Thorin’s earlier rough words faded away. “I would not send you down alone amongst our enemies.”

“I hardly think Gandalf is our enemy,” Bilbo said, still trying to sound positive.

“Perhaps,” Thorin said, “But the wizard is playing his own game. He might not mean you any harm, but he might…” Thorin trailed off, his jaw clenched.

“Might what?” Bilbo said, reaching out to briefly touch his hand. Thorin’s gaze dropped to where their hands had touched, before flicking back up to Bilbo’s face.

“He might stop you from coming back,” Thorin said quietly, earnestly, and Bilbo felt his face flush.

“He’d have to tie me up in a sack,” Bilbo told him, his heart beating rapidly with both pleasure from Thorin’s comment, and hope that he was coming back to himself, and that everything was going to be _alright_ , finally.

Thorin slowly smiled at him in response, a true, warm smile. “Go then,” he told him, “but not alone. Your trust in the wizard is greater than mine.”

“I’ll go!” Kili cried from behind them, and Bilbo started. He’d hadn’t realised any of the others were close enough to overhear.

Thorin gave him a stern look. “Any trouble and you retreat to the mountain,” he ordered, and Kili nodded.

“Of course, Uncle!” he agreed. Thorin gripped Bilbo’s shoulder in farewell, and turned away.

By the time Bilbo reached Kili’s side, Thorin was back searching the treasure, as if they had never spoken. Bilbo’s hopes plummeted once again, though the lingering warmth from Thorin’s words remained.

Kili shimmied down the rope, and Bilbo followed after him more carefully, finding the fresh cool air against his skin refreshing after being inside the mountain.

They headed over to the ragged little army of men who were milling around uncertainly in the absence of the elves. Some of the men gave them unfriendly looks, but they were not impeded on their way to Bard’s tent. Kili pushed open the flap with a flourish, causing Gandalf and an exhausted looking Bard to look up.

“Bilbo,” Gandalf said warmly, standing up. “And Kili too.”

“Hush,” Bard said softly, pointing towards a pallet in the corner where his youngest daughter was curled up asleep.

“Is Tilda alright?” Bilbo asked him in a whisper, and Bard nodded at him.

“She’s just exhausted. Can we talk outside?” Bard said, leading them all out again.

When they had settled themselves as much as they could in the campsite set up in the ruins, Gandalf looked at Bilbo. “So,” he began, “Both you and Thorin saw the dragon-writing glow.”

“Yes,” Bilbo replied. “It said _Yol_ \- ” he broke off in surprise when his voice came out low and rumbling when he said the dragon word.

Kili and Bard stared at him in surprise as Bilbo clapped a hand over his mouth, and Gandalf laughed, though he sounded a bit startled as well.

“We are fortunate that I was right in my guess that you and Thorin are both Dragonborn! Otherwise you would have breathed fire all over us, Bilbo.”

“What?” Bilbo exclaimed, his voice echoed by Kili and Bard. “What do you mean, Gandalf?”

“Dragons have many abilities, breathing fire among them,” Gandalf explained. “As the Dragonborn you can learn these abilities, from the writings that the dragons leave behind them, or from the others who have mastered the dragon language, or from the dragons themselves, if you are exceedingly careful. When you say certain words in that language – the words of power you see written down – you can do everything a dragon can. So when you say ‘fire’ in the dragon language, you are in fact breathing fire.”

“Like a magic spell?” Bard asked curiously, staring at Bilbo as if he expected him to grow wings and fangs.

“In a sense, yes,” Gandalf agreed. “That’s a good way of thinking of it.”

“Will Bilbo and Uncle be able to fly?” Kili asked, his eyes glittering.

“Perhaps not fly, exactly, but something close to it. If they learned the right word of power, of course.”

Kili beamed and slapped Bilbo on his back. Bilbo seriously considered fainting again.

“I don’t understand,” he said quietly.

“You have a dragon’s soul inside you, Bilbo,” Gandalf explained gently. “Or half of one, anyway. When you see words of power written in the dragon’s language, they resonate with the soul inside you and give you those abilities. But you and Thorin share that soul – you cannot use your abilities without him.”

“That’s why the Dragonborn is so dangerous,” a voice said from behind them. Bilbo turned to see the two elves from Thranduil’s retinue behind them.

“Welcome back,” Bard said, standing to greet them.

“The orcs have withdrawn far from here,” the blond elf said to Bard and Gandalf, ignoring both Kili and Bilbo. “We have left scouts on the outskirts of the forest, and we will send warning if they approach again.”

“Thank you, Legolas,” Bard said gratefully. “I appreciate that.”

“Hello Tauriel,” Kili said, smiling at her. She smiled back, hesitant but warm. Legolas’ expression darkened, and so Bilbo quickly jumped back into the conversation.

“Dangerous? What do you mean?” Bilbo asked Legolas.

“What happens when someone with all the power of a dragon also has the greed and gold-lust of one?” Legolas asked, a deep frown on his face. “The Dragonborn has the ability to cause terrible destruction.”

“Uncle wouldn’t do that!” Kili exclaimed, scrambling to his feet angrily. Bilbo stood as well, catching Kili’s arm.

“Thorin lost _everything_ and regained it again beyond all hope,” Bilbo told Legolas crossly. “Would you not be overwhelmed, if that were you? Thorin is not dangerous, not at all.”

In the awkward silence that followed, Tauriel said, “I have set some snares in the forest. I’ll go and see if they have caught anything.”

“I’ll go with you,” Kili said, still glaring at Legolas.

He opened his mouth to object, but Gandalf said calmly, “Will you not join our discussion, Prince Legolas?”

Legolas hesitated before he sat down next to Bard, his reluctance clear.

Kili smirked at Legolas. “I won’t be long,” he added to Bilbo. He and Tauriel walked away, close to each other but not touching. Bilbo repressed the urge to bury his face in his hands; they had all the subtlety of tweens attending their first summer dance without a chaperone. Even Bard was shaking his head with a tiny smile.

“So,” Bilbo said to Gandalf, hoping to divert attention from them. “I saw some other dragon words in Erebor.”

“Good,” Gandalf replied. “Try and learn the words of power as soon as possible. It might be advantageous to learn the rest of the dragon language as well, though I am afraid you will have to do that the long way.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said, pleased at the first pleasant surprise he’d had since arriving at Erebor. “Well, that’s alright. I like learning languages. Where would I find someone who knows it?” Gandalf smiled, and Bilbo snorted. “Of course you do.”

Bard shook his head. “You looked like you were going to faint at the prospect of breathing fire, but you are excited about learning a language? You are an unusual sort of Dragonborn.”

“Languages are interesting,” Bilbo told him. “I can’t see a circumstance where I would enjoy breathing fire.”

“Can anyone learn the dragon language?” Legolas asked, his attention back on the conversation.

“Yes,” Gandalf told him, “though it takes most many years of study and meditation before they can even learn one word of power. I believe your father knows a little of the language, and most of the White Council understand it quite well, though we do not use the dragon abilities. The innate, inbuilt ability that Bilbo and Thorin have is unique to the Dragonborn.”

Legolas’ eyebrows rose in surprise. “My father knows the dragon language?” he asked, and Gandalf nodded.

“Indeed he does,” he confirmed. “Now, Bilbo, Bard was kind enough to gather together some scraps of paper for me, so let’s not waste them.”

“If we are done here for now,” Bard said, standing, “I will check on my children and see what needs doing around the camp.” He nodded at Gandalf and Bilbo, and then hesitated. “Bilbo, if you can speak to Thorin about my people… well, he is not the only one who has lost everything.”

He turned away, Legolas following him without a word to them, and Bilbo stared after them until Gandalf cleared his throat. “Now, Bilbo, the dragon alphabet goes like this…”

\---

By the time Kili re-joined them, looking very pleased with himself, it was getting dark, and Bilbo had a list of the dragon alphabet and some basic words memorised.

“We better be getting back before Uncle sends out a rescue party,” he said, and Bilbo gathered up all his papers.

“Be careful,” Gandalf warned them, squeezing Bilbo’s shoulder. “The danger has not passed just because the orcs have withdrawn. I fear a greater evil is coming and we must be prepared. Learn all the words of power you can find within the mountain. We need every advantage.”

“I will,” Bilbo promised.

“I’ll look after him,” Kili said cheerfully.

Gandalf sighed to himself, but didn’t reply, only bade them farewell.

As they headed back to the camp, Bilbo asked, “So… Tauriel?”

“She’s incredible, isn’t she?” He sighed to himself. “She saved me, back in Lake-Town, you know. We tracked down some rabbits. I’ve got a couple in my pack.”

“Bombur will be pleased,” Bilbo observed. “Thorin less so.”

“You are not going to tell him, are you?” Kili asked. “At least not now.”

“No,” Bilbo agreed. “I’m not going to tell him, but you should – though perhaps not now. When things are more… settled.”

“Everything’s going to be fine, Bilbo!” Kili said cheerfully. “We’ve got Erebor back, and soon Thorin will find the Arkenstone, and if other dragons come, you and Uncle get to be heroes! Come on, let’s get these rabbits to Bombur, I’m starving!”

He raced ahead, and Bilbo followed him more sedately, his mind still on Gandalf’s lessons.

He wished he shared in Kili’s optimism.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long! Things have been a bit sucky recently, but hopefully the next chapters will be up far more regularly now!
> 
> Thanks always to [Kurosmind](http://kurosmind.tumblr.com/post/95122395956/first-rough-sketches-for-my-skyrim-dragonborn/) for the original prompt and art (and patience!) and [Synchrony](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Synchrony) for the beta and brainstorming!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dain Ironfoot is awesome. Gold sickness is not.

Later, when he tried to describe how it had felt, Thorin could only say that he knew Erebor. The stone itself called out to him as he entered in through the hidden door for the first time. He was home, and his whole soul knew it. Then he saw the treasury, and heard the call of the gold, and his soul was lost to it so thoroughly that he didn’t even notice.

The memories were hazy, like trying to remember something that had happened while drunk and concussed and he couldn’t recall a lot of it. In truth he didn’t really want to.

He didn’t care that Lake Town had been destroyed (though even in the worst of his madness he was glad – more than glad - that his nephews and Company had survived).

He didn’t care that Gandalf claimed he was Dragonborn, or the scratches that Bilbo kept distracting him with.

He didn’t care that the Elves had spotted orcs travelling through their lands. 

He cared only for his gold, and his missing Arkenstone.

(It wasn’t until even later that he realised that he had cared for Bilbo more than a little, too).

\---

“But the people of Lake Town are suffering!” Fili exclaimed behind him, but Thorin barely heard him as he knelt and poured a handful of gold through his hands.

“Uncle…” Fili began again.

“The men are of no concern to us now,” Thorin told him absently, holding up a fist-sized diamond to a shaft of light shining through the smashed balcony. “They have no hope of besieging us without support from the elves. The Arkenstone is now our main concern.”

“But-”

“Enough, Fili,” Thorin said, anger creeping into his tone. “The men will receive no treasure from us. They would have stolen it from underneath us if the elves had not abandoned them. We will never treat with them.” 

“And what of the orcs?” Balin asked. “They may be in Mirkwood for now -”

“Better there than here,” Dwalin grunted, and Thorin nodded in agreement even as he dug into the horde.

“- but if the wizard is right,” Balin continued, a hint of annoyance in his tone as he frowned at his brother, “then those orcs will soon be our problem.”

A clamour rose up from his Company, and Thorin shouted “Enough!” 

There was instant ringing silence, aside from the echoes of his own voice, and his Company bent down again to search the horde.

“What about the dragons?” Bilbo asked after some time, his voice small but loud in the hushed environment. Thorin felt a stab of annoyance until he saw Bilbo wringing his hands together, and his ire softened.

“The Arkenstone is our main concern, Master Baggins,” he said, more kindly than he originally intended. “The more of the treasury we can cover between us, the sooner we will find it, and the more we can focus on other things.”

Bilbo’s face twitched, but he said nothing, and bent down to start searching. Thorin felt a momentary flush of warmth, but he was soon distracted by endless glimmering of the horde.

\---

“Thorin, won’t you eat something?” Bilbo asked, and Thorin noted the concern in his voice even as the recognition of it slipped away from him. “You’ve been down here for an awfully long time.”

“I’ve still not found it,” Thorin snarled, tossing treasure around haphazardly. “It’s been days and the Arkenstone is still lost!”

“We have a saying in the Shire,” Bilbo said, his tone light as he held out a tin of the watery rabbit soup they’d spent the last few days eating, “it’s like finding a needle in a haystack. I never thought I would actually try to find something similar! But I’m sure we’ll stumble across it soon. Now won’t you please eat something?”

Thorin shrugged off the offer of soup, the smell of it turning his stomach. “I’ll eat when I find the Arkenstone, not before.”

Concern twisted Bilbo’s features for a moment, before he smiled a wobbly smile and set the tin of soup safely out of the way on a fallen pillar.

“I’ll just leave the soup here in case you’re hungry later,” Bilbo said, and though his tone was almost cheerful, there was something not quite right about it. 

But the treasure called his attention away and he turned back to his search. “Have you found anything yet?” he asked, glancing up in time to see Bilbo jab at the treasure with his toes.

“No luck with the Arkenstone, I’m afraid,” he answered, his voice still light. “But I did discover some more of the dragon writing while I was looking around.”

Thorin scowled. “I’m not interested in that,” he declared.

Bilbo chuckled nervously. “Don’t you think it’s a little bit interesting?”

“No,” Thorin said bluntly, looking up in time to see Bilbo fiddling with something in his pocket. 

“What have you got in your pocket?” he demanded, rising to his feet. 

Bilbo blanched, but hurriedly pulled his hand out of his pocket to show him… an acorn.

“I picked it up in Beorn’s garden,” Bilbo said, his voice soft. 

“You’ve carried it all this way?” Thorin asked, watching as Bilbo’s ears turned pink, and for a moment the gold lost some of its lustre.

Just for a moment. 

\--- 

Balin called his name, sounding concerned, and Thorin looked up, vaguely aware that perhaps his name had been called more than once, but the thought faded away almost instantly, unimportant.

“Dain has arrived,” Balin told him expectantly. They had been awaiting his arrival, Thorin knew, but he wasn’t sure how long it had been since they had first sent the message. 

Thorin nodded once, then turned back to the treasury. He’d had no luck in this latest portion of the treasury, but there was still so much for him to search. 

“He had no trouble getting past the Lake Men,” Balin droned on in the background like a fly, easily ignored. “But what could they do against a well-armed troop of dwarves without support from the elves?”

Thorin didn’t reply, his attention already captured again by the treasure, sifting through coins and turning over bowls and goblets.

“Will you speak to him, Thorin?” Balin asked, but he’d had already forgotten what Balin had been telling him.

“Cousin!” a loud voice called, booming enough that Thorin looked up, surprised. 

“Dain?” He felt his mouth pull into a little smile, despite his annoyance at the interruption. “When did you get here?”

He looked down, temporarily distracted by a shimmer that turned out to be from nothing but a common diamond. When he looked up, Dain looked concerned, and Balin quickly lowered his hands to his side, as if he had been gesturing in Iglishmêk while his back had been turned.

Thorin felt a stab of anger, and then abruptly wondered why he had been so angry as he noticed another hopeful glimmer within the horde.

“Look at you!” Dain said heartily. “You did it, Thorin. We’ve got a lot to toast and my lads dragged a few kegs of the finest ale in the Iron Hills all the way here. Let’s have a drink, eh?”

“How many of your dwarves can you spare to search for the Arkenstone?” Thorin asked him, distracted once more.

“As many as you like,” Dain replied. “Won’t you come and have a drink with me? I can’t get down to you with my leg as it is.”

“Send them to me as soon as you can spare them,” Thorin ordered, kneeling down in the gold, not hearing Dain’s distinctive footsteps as he and Balin walked away. 

\---

Thorin listened to Bilbo make his uncertain way over the piles of treasure, occasionally grumbling under his breath if he stepped on something sharp or pointy. 

“I bought you some dinner,” Bilbo said, and Thorin took the plate from him, put it on one side and immediately forgot about it. 

“Here,” Thorin said, handing him the heavy helm he’d found during his search for the Arkenstone. His hands lingered on the golden helmet as he passed it over to Bilbo, but he trusted the hobbit to care for the horde as he did. “This might ease your mind. I know that you are still concerned about the dragons.” 

“Really?” Bilbo asked, sounding pleased, and Thorin almost smiled.

Bilbo took the helm in his hands, sliding the visor forwards and wrinkling his nose at the stylised dwarven face on the front, deliberately designed to be scowling and intimidating to any onlookers. “Thorin, what is this?” he asked.

Thorin took it from him reverently. “This is a helm made in the first age especially for fighting dragons,” he explained. Bilbo’s eyes grew wide and awed. “The front plate is designed to withstand fire and the eye-slit is narrow to prevent dragons from making eye contact.”

“That’s incredible, Thorin,” Bilbo breathed. “How many did you find?”

Thorin scowled in response. “Just that one.” Bilbo’s hopeful face fell a little. “Many of our great heirlooms have been lost over the years, from wars and dragons and destruction, and from the demands of elves and men.” He took a deep breath, suddenly furious. “And they demand yet more from me now! The men send envoy after envoy and the elves will return with their ultimatums before the season changes.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo said carefully. “I understand, I do. No one is asking you give up items that are so important to your people. But there are thousands of coins in the treasury, and gemstones that have not been worked into any jewellery, surely…”

“I will not negotiate with anyone who brought an army to the foot of my mountain,” Thorin interrupted flatly. 

“But if more dragons come it won’t just be your people in danger, it will be everyone!” Bilbo argued.

“I will do nothing until the Arkenstone is found!” Thorin declared with a scowl. 

“The Arkenstone is buried under that mound of treasure!” Bilbo exclaimed, throwing his free hand up in frustration. “It could take years to find it, and it won’t be years until the first dragon arrives at your door!” 

“I will not change my mind,” Thorin replied, putting the helm carefully on a stand and turning back to where he had been searching.

“I hope you find some more of those helmets, then,” Bilbo said, sounding discouraged and sad as he carefully put it down. “Because we are going to need them.”

He knew that he didn’t want Bilbo to be sad, but he couldn’t remember what it was that Bilbo had been sad about. 

“I’ve found this,” he said to Bilbo, not wanting him to sound so miserable. “For you. A gift so you’ll be safe.”

He held out the mithril shirt he’d found and Bilbo’s eyes widened.

“For me?” Bilbo asked. “That’s far too grand for the likes of me.”

But Thorin smiled at him as he put it on, before he was distracted by the shimmer of gold swimming in front of his eyes and making him sway dizzily. Bilbo immediately tugged on his arm until he sat and put the plate directly into his hands.

“When the Arkenstone is found,” Thorin mumbled. “When it’s found…”

“Eat, Thorin,” Bilbo urged, nudging his arm. “The rations are much better now Dain Ironfoot has arrived.”

The food was tasteless, and he only managed a few mouthfuls before a noise across the treasury caught his attention.

Balin, Fili and Dain were having an animated conversation, with voices too low to carry.

Thorin tossed his plate aside, ignoring Bilbo’s gasp of dismay, and rose to his feet. Although none of them looked at him, the three split up and left the treasury.

“What were they talking about?” he growled. “What were they hiding from me?”

“Nothing,” Bilbo exclaimed. “Nothing, Thorin. Why don’t we…”

Thorin bent back to the horde and searched more feverishly now, Bilbo and his concerns forgotten.

He did not trust his Company with the Arkenstone. If they found it, there was no telling what they would do with it, or who they would give it to. He had to find it. 

\--- 

Thorin heard the clink of footsteps on gold coins and looked up with a scowl. 

Balin and Dain were standing before him, both in armour, both carrying weapons.

Somehow he had known it would come to this.

He reached slowly for the sword he had found to replace Orcrist, a royal blade, one that his own grandfather had perhaps once carried.

“Thorin,” Balin said quietly, his voice tense.

“Come on then, traitors!” he snarled at them. “Try and take my gold from me!”

Dain rolled his eyes. “We’re not interested in your gold, cousin,” he declared, and Thorin drew his blade.

“Thorin,” Balin interrupted urgently, stepping closer, his hands well away from his sword. “Our scouts have sighted another dragon. It’s heading for Erebor. We need you. Please.”

It was the tears in Balin’s eyes that reached him first, and then his words.

The gold still pulsed behind him, but it didn’t call to him in quite the same way, and he found he could focus. 

His sword arm fell to his side. “A dragon, Balin? Where?” he asked urgently. 

“It’s coming from the north, fast,” Balin asked, his shoulders coming down in what seemed like relief. “The Company is on the battlements with Dain’s soldiers, awaiting your order.”

Thorin turned his head away from the gold, not without effort, and left the treasury for the first time since they had arrived in the Mountain. “Will you accompany me?” he asked.

“Of course, my king,” Balin said, bowing his head.

“No need to ask,” Dain added, grinning at him, and they fell into step behind him as he sped to the battlements.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thousand apologies to everyone, especially kurosmind, that this update has taken so long! 
> 
> The last chapter will be posted on the 30th may.
> 
> Please check out the amazing original concept art by [kurosmind](http://kurosmind.tumblr.com/post/95122395956/first-rough-sketches-for-my-skyrim-dragonborn) and keep an eye for the new art by [mithrilbikini](http://mithrilbikini.tumblr.com/) on the 30th!


	5. Chapter 5

The air on the battlements was frigid and hurt to inhale. In the time that Thorin had spent in the treasury autumn had faded into the start of winter. There was no snow, not yet, but the threat of it was heavy in the air.

It was bracing, refreshing despite the cold after spending so long inside.

Thorin’s Company greeted his arrival with nothing but calls of relief and welcome and it seemed strange and disconcerting to Thorin that not that long before he had been wondering if they had been plotting his death.

He shook the thought away. He knew he needed to focus.

Dwalin clapped a hand on his shoulder but his face was grim. “Look,” he pointed, and Thorin could see the silhouette of the dragon in the distance. It was several miles away, but Thorin knew that the distance was nothing to a dragon.

He tried to push away his despair at the sight but he knew that Erebor had not withstood the power of a dragon even at the height of its strength, so what chance did they have now, when they had barely reclaimed the mountain?

His fingers dug into the stone of the battlements as he tried to not to let memories of the past overwhelm him. “When was it first sighted?” Thorin asked.

“About twenty minutes ago,” Dori told him, frowning and crossing his arms. “It keeps circling there, close enough for us to know that it’s a threat, not close enough for us to do anything about it.”

“How long do we have to prepare?” Thorin asked, trying to compose himself.

“Until it decides to attack,” Dwalin said, shifting his weight and touching his hand to the axe he had obviously recovered from the armoury. “We’ll be ready.”

For the first time, Thorin looked around at the battlements. There had clearly been a lot of repairs done since the last time he’d been up here. The wall was mended, and two basic windlances had been constructed, already pointing towards the dragon. They were also a group of dwarves busily constructing thick leather shields that would hopefully provide some protection against the dragon’s breath.

“My lads helped with the repairs – I bought craftsmen and engineers as well as soldiers,” Dain told him, tapping the butt of his hammer to the windlance. Thorin stared at the windlances, torn between gratitude that Dain would do so much for his kingdom without being asked, without Thorin even having the Arkenstone in his possession, and suspicious of the reasons that he would do the same.

Thorin screwed his eyes shut and shook the thought away.

“Our main objective is to stop the dragon getting to the walls,” Dwalin began, “and then a group of us will stand with you and Bilbo as you reach it.”

“Why do we need to reach the dragon?” Thorin asked, confused.

He saw Balin’s face twist in sympathy, Dwalin’s in concern and once again Thorin felt that awful, disconnected feeling, like he couldn’t trust his own memory and perception.

“You and Bilbo are Dragonborn, remember?” Balin asked carefully.

“Yes,” Thorin replied slowly. Bilbo glowing like a sunrise on the mountainside, the word  carved into the wall and burning its way into his memory. “I remember.”

The gold had dimmed the memory, but how had it seemed so unimportant?

“Where is Bilbo?” Thorin asked urgently.

“He went – oh, there he is,” Bofur said, pointing behind him.

Thorin turned to see Bilbo, unarmed and unarmoured aside from Sting and his mithril shirt, looking up at him with surprise and hope.

“Thorin! I was looking for you!” Bilbo’s voice was shaking but it was with relief, not fear.

“I’m here,” he assured, and Bilbo’s expression brightened, the little concerned wrinkle in his forehead smoothing out, at least until he looked out at the approaching dragon. Then he turned a little pale again.

“Master Baggins,” Thorin said lowly, leading him a few steps from the others, trying not to feel their concerned gazes on his back, and trying to ignore the nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him not to trust them. “We are Dragonborn?”

It came out more like a question than a statement, despite his best efforts, and Bilbo nodded.

Thorin stared out over the balcony, and at the steadily approaching dragon. “I don’t know how we can fight it,” he admitted quietly, the memories of Smaug breaking through Erebor as if the stone walls were made of paper as vivid as if they had just happened.

“I think that for the dragon to stay dead we need to be close enough to the dragon to absorb its soul when it dies, even if we are not the ones to kill it,” Bilbo said urgently, stepping closer, his face soft with understanding. “And that word we saw on the wall-”

“ _Yol_ ,” Thorin said, pausing in shock when his voice came out in a low grumbling roar that echoed across the battlements and had dwarves looking around in panic and reaching for their weapons.

Bilbo looked torn between shock and amusement. “That happened to me as well when I said it,” he said, his mouth twitching a little.

“What _happened_?” Thorin asked wildly.

“Gandalf called it a word of power in the language of dragons,” Bilbo explained. “As Dragonborn we can use some of the same abilities as dragons. That one means we’d be able to breathe fire.”

Thorin stared at him for a moment, Bilbo’s words sinking in and opening up possibilities and plans that had not been there before. “That is an advantage,” he said slowly.

“Yes,” Bilbo agreed, looking nervous but determined and Thorin hesitated before re-joining his Company.

He put his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “You need not face the dragon with us. It will be safer behind the walls.”

“Actually I do,” Bilbo said. “We share the dragon’s soul that gives us those powers – we can only use them together.” He hesitated, before patting Thorin’s hand where it rested on his shoulder. “But even if I didn’t have to, I would still stand with you.”

Thorin didn’t answer. His throat felt oddly tight. Bilbo had so much faith in him; his Company had so much faith in him, and he hardly deserved it.

He didn’t say anything but Bilbo patted his hand again before he started back towards the Company, so perhaps he understood.

“Did the wizard tell you anything else?” Thorin asked Bilbo.

He shifted awkwardly, looking anxious again. “He just taught me a little of the alphabet – I’ve been practising it with Ori.”

Thorin nodded thoughtfully. They’d have to figure out how to use the word of power in combat, but he’d been forced to improvise in battle before. Knowing that he had that ability settled his mind and made him more focused; the call of the gold quieter.

“Where is the wizard now?” Thorin asked as he reached the others.

“He’s gone to meet with the White Council,” Balin informed him.

“Typical,” Nori said with a roll of his eyes, and a murmur of agreement went through the other dwarves. Thorin even surprised himself with a smile.

“What other preparations can we make?” Thorin asked, looking around him at the bustling dwarves on the battlements.

“Everyone is armed and armoured,” Dain told him with a nod. “My dwarves brought supplies – food as well as weapons. We can wait out the dragon for a short time, if needs be.”

“Better to avoid a siege if we can, though,” Gloin objected.

“We need to keep the dragon away from the mountain,” Thorin agreed. “We’ll use the windlances to try and force it away from the walls.”

“Dain brought archers as well,” Kili pointed out, waving his own bow, and Thorin couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm, glad that it hadn’t been squashed out of him by the quest, and by Thorin’s own actions.

“Try aiming for its wings,” Bilbo suggested thoughtfully, staring out at the dragon, which was closer now, but still well out of range of any weapon. “Smaug’s body was armoured all over, but his wings weren’t.”

“Good point, hobbit,” Dwalin said approvingly. “We can deal with it easier when it’s on the ground.”

“Nets,” Ori said suddenly, and blushed when everyone looked at him. “We could try and tangle it up when it flies by.”

Dwalin grinned fiercely at him Ori blushed harder, looking pleased.

“Has anyone informed the men of Lake Town?” Fili asked cautiously. “The ruins of Dale are completely exposed to the dragon.”

“We were waiting for your word to let them into the mountain,” Balin told Thorin, looking at him carefully.

The urge to say no was almost overwhelming – the men had threatened them! They would have kept the siege going if the elves had not abandoned them! – but he pressed his hand to his eyes and forced the rage back.

“Send for them,” he commanded, his voice hoarse. “Offer them sanctuary. Hurry.”

A few runners set off, and Dwalin clapped his hand to his shoulder again.

Thorin took a deep breath and spoke loudly enough for all the dwarves on the battlement to hear him. “We have won the mountain from one dragon, we will not allow it to be taken again! Arm yourselves!”

As the dwarves all cheered Bilbo nodded to himself. “Dragon or not, you still need to have something to eat before anything else happens,” he said firmly.

Thorin would have protested, but his stomach rumbled, and for the first time that he could remember since they entered the mountain, he realised he was hungry.

“Thank you,” he said instead and watched as Bilbo scurried away.

\---

Half an hour later they were still watching the sky.

The windlances were loaded, his Company was armed, and there was a row of dwarven archers ready to fire. Everyone else on the wall had been armed with a pike or spear as well as whatever weapon they usually carried.

Bard and some of the best archers from Lake-town had joined them on the battlements, and Thorin struggled to ignore the voices in his mind telling him that the men were only there to get access to his treasure.

The men and dwarves mixed uneasily, though whether that unease was caused by the fact that not that long ago they had been enemies or that in a short time they would be facing a dragon, Thorin could not tell, but Bard’s reputation as a dragon-slayer spoke for itself and the dwarves and men all worked together to prepare for the attack.

Erebor was as secure as they could make it, with more dwarves, and some of the men and woman of Lake-town who had accepted their invitation, armed and ready to try and prevent the dragon from breaking through the gate.

But the dragon was still wheeling around in the sky, too high and too far, and yet all too close.

“I wish that bloody dragon would hurry up,” Dain grumbled, leaning the battlement wall. “It’s bloody cold out here.”

“It’s smaller than Smaug, at least,” Bofur said, coming to join them, still wearing his hat despite his new armour.

“How can you tell?” Nori asked, which started bickering among his Company and some of Dain’s warriors, which Thorin listened to with a familiar sense of growing but fond exasperation.

He’d missed his people while he’d been in the treasury and he hadn’t even noticed.

“The dragon can wait us out,” Bard said to him quietly. Some of his archers had joined in the banter with the dwarves but Bard stood as tense and ready as Thorin himself. “As soon as it starts getting dark, the dragon has the advantage.”

Thorin nodded, knowing that Bard was right. As soon as the sun went down, it would be harder for the archers and for them aim the windlances.

“What _is_ taking it so long?” Balin wondered. He sounded calm, but Thorin could see his fingers tapping against the butt of his spear. He knew that Balin remembered every detail of Smaug’s attack, just as Thorin did. “Smaug rushed straight through our defences in moments and went straight for the treasure. Why would this dragon give us time to regroup?”

“It’ll be different this time,” Thorin promised quietly, as much to himself as Balin.

“Maybe it’s not here for the treasure,” Bard suggested, looking sidelong at Thorin and then at Bilbo, who was close behind him.

Thorin looked down at his hands, remembering them glowing, and conceded that he might have a point.

“If it’s here for me, then let it come. Get ready!” Thorin declared, drawing his weapon, before he yelled “ _ **YOL**_ ” at the top of his voice.

He didn’t breathe fire (he wasn’t sure how), although using the word of power left his throat feeling raw, but his voice echoed out over the Desolation, and made the stone they were standing on tremble.

It also caught the attention of the dragon. It stopped swooping in lazy circles and sped straight towards Erebor.

“Well, that got its attention,” Bilbo commented wryly, swallowing nervously and drawing his little sword. There hadn’t been a spear small enough for him to wield, and no one had thought to cut one down for him.

Thorin didn’t have time to regret the oversight because the dragon flew fast. He had time to notice that it was indeed smaller than Smaug, and not as armoured, and then it was upon them.

“Archers!” Thorin shouted, and the archers, led by Kili and Bard, fired. Most of the arrows flew wide and clattered off the dragon’s blue and grey scales, but it was enough to cause it to veer away from the mountain and swing around for another attack.

“Now!” Thorin shouted, and the two dwarves on the windlances fired. One shot missed entirely, the other struck into the dragon’s side, not enough to stop it, but enough to make it roar in agony, spitting fire towards them, and causing them all to duck behind the leather shields, Thorin making sure that his shield covered up Bilbo too.

Despite the smell of burning hair and a few cries of pain, most of the fire was deflected by the shields, and Thorin, along with Dain and Dwalin and some of Dain’s solders recovered quickly and stabbed at the dragon’s face and side.

The dragon snatched up a dwarf in its mouth and another in its claw and shook them as they cried out, before they were dropped over the edge of the battlement. Dain threw his spear with a cry of rage, and the dwarves and men fought harder, pummelling it with spears as the windlances were reloaded.

“The net!” Thorin called, and the net that they had strung up behind them was cut loose, and it fell onto the dragon. The net missed its wings but tangled up its head, buying them a few precious moments while it shook itself free.

After another volley of arrows, the windlance fired again and ripped through the dragon’s wing, at the same time as Bard’s arrow hit the dragon in the eye, and it tumbled clumsily to the ground, bellowing flames.

“Keep firing until we reach it!” Thorin commanded the archers, gripping Kili’s arm as he passed. “Don’t let it take flight again!”

“To the king!” Balin shouted, and Thorin was already running. The archers, led by Kili and Bard stayed on the wall, in case the dragon took to the air again, but the Company and Dain’s soldiers followed him to the entrance.

The great gates had been sealed up with rubble but Dain’s soldiers had cleared just enough for them to pass through safely, and stayed behind to reseal and guard it until they returned.

“Remember to stay together,” Bilbo told him as they ran, and though his fingers compulsively clenched around the hilt of his sword, he held the blade more easily than Thorin remembered.

“Like we practiced, hobbit,” Dwalin rumbled behind him and Bilbo nodded in determination, but there was no time for talking.

Although it was grounded and half blind, the dragon was still dangerous, and despite being much smaller than Smaug, its teeth and claws were still deadly sharp and it still had its fire.

“Attack from the rear and on its blind side,” Thorin yelled as they got close, gesturing with his spear as the dwarves fanned out around the dragon.

The dragon twisted its neck, snapping at the dwarves behind it, and Thorin cried out “ _Yol!_ ” again to distract it, enabling the warriors to get close with their spears.

The dragon jerked its head towards him, snarling, and Thorin braced himself, spear out, but Bilbo grabbed his hand, and shouted “ _Yol!_ ” himself, and that time fire streamed out of his mouth, straight into the dragon’s face.

The dragon reared back in surprise, as did Bilbo, but Thorin tightened his grip on Bilbo’s hand before he could let go and together they shouted the word of power.

While the hottest fire they could make in the forges of Erebor had not harmed Smaug, this fire was dragon fire, immeasurably more powerful. Thorin could see that the scales on the dragon’s face were damaged, that it was bleeding.

“Again, Bilbo,” he cried, ignoring how hoarse his throat was, and again they breathed fire over the dragon.

It shook itself, enraged, and opened its mouth to breathe fire of its own, only for Dwalin to hurl his spear down the dragon’s throat.

The dragon writhed and choked, shaking its head in its death throes, and the moment it stilled its flesh melted away into wisps of light, leaving nothing but the skeleton behind, and as he looked at Bilbo, he realised they were glowing again.

“We did it,” Bilbo breathed, squeezing his hand tightly.

“We did,” Thorin agreed, hardly able to believe it. The dragon was dead, and they still had Erebor.

He stared at the skeleton until the cheering of the dwarves reached him, and he gave the order to see to the wounded and return to the Mountain.

He had so much to do, and so much to consider.

It wasn’t until they headed back to Erebor that he realised he was still holding Bilbo’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Battle scenes are hard!
> 
> Comments are very much appreciated!


	6. Chapter 6

There had only been a handful of casualties in the battle, Thorin was astounded to learn once they returned to the mountain and he gathered in a meeting with Balin, Dain and Bard.

He’d also been astonished, and ashamed, to see just how much work had been done in the weeks that he had been secluded in the treasury. As he had walked through the mountain he’d seen evidence of structural repairs, rooms cleared of debris, and bodies lain to rest respectfully. Even the room they were meeting in had been cleared of rubble and a table and chairs had been found from somewhere. The four of them were sat around it, drinking ale in exhausted silence.

Thorin held his mug of Iron Hills ale absently. He was still dwelling on the battle, and of how badly he had failed his Company and his people since reaching Erebor. He’d known about the gold-sickness inherent in his family, he’d been wary of it, and he’d still succumbed to it without a fight. Worst of all, he couldn’t deny that there was still part of him that wanted to go straight back to the treasury and continue his search for the Arkenstone.

He pushed that part of his mind away roughly and forced himself to focus on what needed doing immediately.

“Are your people settled?” he asked Bard, who nodded once, stiffly.

“As much as they can be after being made homeless twice in six weeks, anyway,” he answered, in a tone that suggested he would be angry if he wasn’t so exhausted.

“You are welcome to stay here as long as you need,” Thorin told him honestly, and when Bard nodded again, he seemed a little friendlier.

“Thank you,” he replied genuinely.

“My dwarves brought supplies with us,” Dain added, taking a gulp of his own ale. “We’ve enough to get by for now, but we didn’t account for the men in our calculations. We’ll need to arrange hunting parties before the winter sets in.”

“Or we can reach out to the elves,” Bard suggested. “Their king seemed genuine when he offered help.”

Thorin gritted his teeth to keep down his instinctive denial and took a sip of his ale instead.

“The elves have their own problems now, laddie,” Balin replied, after giving Thorin a cautious glance that he was not oblivious to. “There are orcs travelling freely through Mirkwood to get to Dol Guldur, and I suspect that will be Thranduil’s main concern at the moment.”

Bard heaved a sigh, downcast. Balin poured him more ale, looking sympathetic. “It’s not all bad,” he said reassuringly. “The Lady Dis – Thorin’s sister – is leading a group of dwarves from Ered Luin. They’ll be here in early spring, and we’ll get Dale ready for your people as soon as we can.”

Thorin straightened up, staring at Balin in disbelief. Why would Balin not tell him that Dis was on her way? But Balin wasn’t looking at him, didn’t notice that he was surprised, and with a sinking feeling he realised that Balin must have already told him and he had simply forgotten.

“Aye, and I’ve already sent for more supplies from the Iron Hills,” Dain assured him. “The winter might be tough, but we’ll manage.”

“And we’ll give your people what we owe you from the treasure, as we promised,” Thorin said. The words were difficult to say, and he already wanted to take them back, send the men away, but he resisted that impulse, draining the last of his ale with a shaking hand.

Balin smiled at him, both proud and compassionate.

Bard let out a sigh, looking much less tense. “Thank you. What you’ve given us so far has helped, but the treasure would allow us to trade, which would get us back on our feet much faster.”

Thorin frowned at him, puzzled. What had they given the men, other than shelter? But Balin and Dain seemed just as confused as him.

But before he could ask, there was a knock at the door. “Enter,” Thorin called.

Kili poked his head around the door. “Uncle?” he said nervously, looking tense. Thorin couldn’t blame him. He’d not exactly acted like an uncle, or a king, recently.

“Come in, Kili,” he said, beckoning him in with as much as a smile as he could manage.

Kili hesitated by the door. “I have… I’ve received some news that you need to hear, but you might be angry with me.”

A pang of regret and shame went through Thorin. “I won’t be angry, Kili, I promise.”

Kili laughed a little, sounding frantic. “You will, but I promise it’s important.”

He came into the room, followed by two elves that he recognised as the ones who had taken them prisoner in Mirkwood, one of whom had stolen his sword (and was still _wearing_ it).

Thorin stiffened with anger, he couldn’t help it, and it took everything he had to squash it down and keep as much of it out of his voice as he could. “I trust you when you say it’s important, Kili,” he managed, and instantly Kili’s expression changed from nervous to pleased.

“Prince Legolas, Tauriel,” Bard said, far more welcoming than Thorin himself felt. “It’s good to see you again.”

“And you,” the red-headed elf, who Thorin presumed was Tauriel, answered. “I’m glad your people are safe within the mountain.”

“Thranduil’s son,” Thorin said flatly, finally realising who he was. “Why are you here.”

Legolas stepped forward, his expression cool. He clearly wanted to be here as little as Thorin wanted him to be. “We were patrolling the outskirts of the forest when we saw the dragon,” he began. “We… decided to warn the men so we headed to the ruins of Dale, only to find that they were gone, and there were some orc scouts within the city.”

“What!” Bard exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

“Did any of your people remain in the city?” Balin asked, standing as well.

“No,” Bard replied. “We all left together. But if we had not…” he trailed off, his pallor pale just thinking of what could have happened.

“We slew all the orcs,” Tauriel said, looking at Bard and obviously trying to reassure him. “But they were not alone. There was a man leading them.”

“A man?” Dain asked, frowning.

“He was bearing these,” Legolas said, stepping forward and putting a mask and a sword on the table.

“I’ve never anyone wear a mask like that,” Bard said, picking it up. It was made of wood, with narrow slits for eyes, the face painted to look like a dragon.

“The sword is dwarven work,” Dain said, unsheathing it and tilting it towards the light.

“Not just dwarven,” Thorin pointed out, staring at it in shock. “Look at the ravens on the hilt. That’s a Durin blade, only carried by our family. Where would a man have got it from?”

“May I see?” Balin asked, and Dain passed it over. “Look at the maker’s mark – this is a very old blade, predating your great-grandfather’s resettlement of Erebor.”

“That’s from the Grey Mountains?” Thorin asked, as Balin passed him the sword.

“What’s in the Grey Mountain?” Bard asked in confusion.

“There’s an old dwarven settlement in the Grey Mountains,” Balin answered as Thorin stared at the blade. “We lost it to the dragons long ago. After that, Thorin’s grandfather led some of our people here, and Dain’s grandfather led the rest to the Iron Hills.”

“That doesn’t explain the mask,” Dain said, picking it up for a closer look before passing it to Thorin.

“The mask looks a little like the dwarven masks made to fight dragons,” Thorin observed slowly, looking at the narrow eye slits in the mask and thinking of the golden one he had found in the treasury.

“Mithrandir warned my father of dragon priests,” Legolas said thoughtfully. “If this dwarven settlement was lost to dragons, perhaps the dragons and their carers remain there to this day.”

“It can’t be a coincidence that this man was so close to Erebor at the same time as a dragon,” Kili remarked uneasily.

“I agree,” Bard added, and there was a silence in the room after his words.

“It’s been a very long day,” Balin said after a long moment. “Perhaps we should think on this tonight and meet again after we have rested.”

There was a tired murmur of agreement and Thorin turned to the two elves. “You are welcome to stay within the mountain,” he offered stiltedly.

Kili’s smile managed to drown out the clamouring voice in his mind that wanted him to kick not only the elves, but the men as well, out of the Mountain.

“I’ll find somewhere for them,” Kili offered.

Thorin took a few steps towards him and gently pressed his forehead to Kili’s. “You did well today – both against the dragon, and by bringing them here.”

“Thank you, uncle,” Kili said brightly, before slipping out of the room, two elves in tow, Bard following after them to say goodnight to his children.

Dain waited for them to leave before saying quietly, “I’ll assign a few of my lads to guard the treasury tonight, if you want.”

Thorin didn’t answer. He wanted to go straight to the treasury, wanted to guard it himself, wanted everyone out, and he was ashamed.

“That’s probably a good idea,” Balin said, watching him carefully. “Emotions are running high, we don’t need to be fighting among ourselves.”

“Thank you,” Thorin managed, pressing a hand against his eyes. He couldn’t articulate how much he was struggling. “I…”

“Get some rest, cousin,” Dain said, getting to his feet with a groan. “You’ve certainly earned it, and your room is all ready for you.”

Thorin disagreed with that, but he couldn’t deny that he was exhausted.

\---

Half way to his room, Thorin realised that he wouldn’t be able to sleep.

There was too much on his mind, so much troubling him, and before he consciously knew it, he was searching for Bilbo’s room. Thorin was ashamed to discover that he could not remember where Bilbo’s quarters were.

He knew that Balin had told him the location, along with that of the other members of his company, but he just could not bring it to his mind.

It worried him. How many other things had he forgotten, lost in the haze of the gold?

Eventually, after accidentally interrupting Dwalin and Ori who were sharing a tender moment after the battle (and how had he been so distant he hadn't known _that_ was happening?) and with some helpful gestures from Bifur, he found his way to Bilbo’s rooms. He’d been put in the wing that had once been reserved for members of the lesser nobility. Thorin was relieved that Balin had thought to house his company so well, when it had been the furthest thing from his mind.

He rapped on the door, and after a few moments, a sleepy-eyed, tousled-haired Bilbo cracked open his door and glared blearily at Thorin. The shirt and trousers he was wearing were crumpled as if he had been sleeping in them.

“If there is another dragon you can tell it to come back at a more reasonable hour,” Bilbo informed him peevishly.

“No,” Thorin replied, somewhat awkwardly. He had not been sleeping much, recently. He’d spent his nights in the treasury, napping only when he had exhausted himself searching through the treasure. It somehow hadn’t occurred to him to wait until morning. “I hoped to talk to you, Master Baggins, but I didn’t mean to wake you. My apologies, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Bilbo peered at him, still more than half asleep, and then rubbed his eyes and tugged Thorin into the room by his sleeve. “You’re here now,” Bilbo said. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

Thorin noticed that Bilbo had made some attempt to make the room look cosy – there was a faded but plush rug in front of the fire and the ornately carved chair placed beside it had been covered in threadbare but still plump cushions.

Bilbo’s rooms were also flooded with paper. On the little tables he had scatted around the room, on the floor and even on his armchair, reams and reams of paper covered in the little chicken-scratch letters that Thorin recognised as the dragon language.

(And Thorin couldn’t help but notice that, aside from the mithril armour on its stand, glimmering warmly in the firelight, and a quill that looked like it had a golden nib on top of a sheaf of paper, there was no other sign of treasure in Bilbo’s rooms, and he _hated_ himself for noticing that.)

Bilbo shuffled across the room, hanging a kettle that looked like it’d had a rather large dent carefully hammered out of it on its stand over the hearth.

“What’s wrong, Thorin?” Bilbo sounded exhausted in a way that was more than purely physical, and Thorin knew that a large part of that was entirely his fault, that Bilbo had been worrying both about him and because of him, but he was still concerned for him. He felt even guiltier about waking him up, now.

“I wanted to thank you,” Thorin said softly. “And I wanted to apologise.”

Bilbo’s head jerked upwards in surprise, and Thorin smiled at him, tentatively. Bilbo’s entire face lit up in an answering smile that eased something in him that was still tightly wound.

“I should not have left you alone to deal with this. I should not have allowed myself to become so… distracted.”

“Thorin, it’s alright- ” Bilbo began, but Thorin shook his head.

“No. It’s not. I was walking the same path as my grandfather, the one I have spent my whole life being vigilant against, and I didn’t even notice. I almost lost Erebor for the second time today, and I…”

“Thorin,” Bilbo said, briefly touching his arm to get his attention. “Sit down. I’ll make us some tea and we can think about what we need to do next, hmm?”

Thorin sat in one of Bilbo’s chairs, picking up the paper and staring at the dragon letters. They swam in front of his eyes in the way they always had when Bilbo had tried to show him, as if Thorin should recognise their meaning, and he closed his eyes instead, too drained to deal with the headaches that the dragon writing always seemed to give him.

It was soothing in a way he couldn’t explain, sitting in front of the fire in a comfortable seat, listening to Bilbo clatter and chatter away. He hadn’t been paying a lot of attention to Bilbo’s actual words, just at ease with his comforting voice, so when the words sank into his consciousness he almost jolted out of his chair in shock. “… and when I leave…”

“You’re leaving?” Thorin interrupted, trying to squash his utter horror at the notion.

“Well, yes,” Bilbo replied, looking confused.

Thorin knew that Bilbo wanted to go home. He hadn’t made any secret of it. And just because the thought of Bilbo leaving filled Thorin with an odd sort of panic and a deep, wrenching sense of loss, didn’t mean that he shouldn’t support him.

“You have fulfilled your contract with us a thousand times over, Bilbo,” Thorin said, trying to keep his voice even. “If it wasn’t for you, Erebor would have fallen to a second dragon today. I will make sure that you get safely home, with as much of your share as you can carry…”

“Thorin,” Bilbo interrupted, sounding as if he was trying to keep from laughing. “I didn’t mean that I wanted to go home – though if we do go back towards the Shire I wouldn’t mind popping back to Bag End for a few things – but I do think we should look into investigating where that dragon came from.”

“Oh,” Thorin replied, feeling light-headed with relief and Bilbo smiled at him again.

“Besides, it is hardly due to me that the dragon was defeated,” Bilbo added. “You did so much more than I did, and so did the other warriors.”

“You were the one who researched what it meant to be Dragonborn,” Thorin argued, “and you worked how to use our powers while I ignored all your warnings. Because of me we almost-”

“But we didn’t, Thorin,” Bilbo disagreed fiercely. “You led us all the way here, and held us together when the dragon attacked. We couldn’t have done any of it without you.”

“Master Baggins - Bilbo,” Thorin began, but gave up when Bilbo glared at him. “Thank you,” he said instead, and took a sip of the tea that Bilbo handed to him.

Bilbo brushed the papers off the other chair and sat down heavily, drinking his own tea.

“We think we might know where the dragon came from,” Thorin told Bilbo after a moment of comfortable silence.

Bilbo looked almost as if he was falling asleep again, but he perked up a little when Thorin spoke. “Really?” he asked, and listened intently as Thorin explained what the two elves had discovered.

“That makes sense,” Bilbo said once he had finished. “The Grey Mountains aren’t far from the Withered Heath – everything that Ori and I researched suggested that was where dragons came from.”

Thorin nodded and drained the last of his tea. “We’re having a meeting tomorrow to decide our next move,” Thorin informed him. “Will you come?”

“Of course,” Bilbo said, stifling a yawn.

“And tomorrow,” Thorin asked, feeling ashamed again that Bilbo had been trying to learn everything he could while he had been lost to the gold. “Will you tell me everything you’ve learned about being Dragonborn?”

“That should take about half an hour,” Bilbo quipped. “I barely know anything. I have found some more dragon writing around the Mountain though; we could go and look at that.”

“Good,” Thorin said, standing up to go, although he really wanted to doze off in the chair right in Bilbo’s cosy little room. “See in the morning, Bilbo.”

“Goodnight Thorin,” Bilbo replied with a soft smile, though he seemed a little concerned still as he looked up at him. “You look like you need to sleep.”

Thorin returned to the room that had been set up for him, but he didn’t sleep for a long while. The urge to return to the treasury was harder to fight when he was alone.

\---

Thorin spent a restless night before entering the meeting room. Balin, Dain, Bard and his nephews were already sat at the table and the elves were standing against the far wall. A part of him – a large part – wanted them all to leave, wanted to back to the treasury and his search for the Arkenstone but he pushed it away and joined it at the table.

He did feel something that was tightly wound inside him relax when Bilbo joined them.

“Have you made any decisions, cousin?” Dain asked, settling more comfortably in his chair.

He glanced at Bilbo, who nodded. “I think it is worth investigating where the dragons are coming from, and what connection they have to the dwarven settlements in the Grey Mountains. We'll travel there through the dragon breeding ground of the Withered Heath to try and prevent any more dragons coming to Erebor.”

“I think that is probably wise,” Balin agreed. “If dragons are returning that is a problem that affects all of us.”

“Where does that leave us?” Bard asked, looking as exhausted as Thorin felt.

“I will honour my promise to your people,” Thorin said, the words not quite as difficult to say as he imagined.

Bard sighed in relief. “Thank you. What you have provided us so far has helped, but it is not enough to rebuild Dale. We need gold to trade, and to hire help.”

“What have we provided?” Balin asked him, genuinely confused.

“Um,” Fili said slowly. “I sent the men some supplies. No treasure,” he added quickly, “but iron and nails and leather. I didn’t mean to disobey you, I swear, but I couldn’t let them struggle…”

Thorin stood up, hating the uncertainty and fear on Fili’s face, and strode around the table to pull him into a hug. “Thank you for remembering my honour when I did not.”

Fili clung to him for a second before they sat back down. Thorin couldn’t help but notice that some of the smiles around the table were a little watery.

“What of the elves?” Legolas asked, folding his arms. “What will we receive from this?”

Thorin was absolutely positive that the surge of anger was not caused by his gold sickness.

“The dragons are our most pressing concern,” Balin said calmly, though Thorin could tell that Legolas’ words had annoyed him too. “And one that will affect your people as well as ours. Other matters can be resolved later.”

Legolas frowned, clearly unhappy. “I will tell my father that.” He made to leave the room but paused when the other elf didn’t follow him. “Tauriel?”

“With your permission, I will stay,” Tauriel said firmly, looking at Thorin. “As you said, the dragons concern us all.”

“Please, uncle!” Kili said, looking at Tauriel with undisguised affection and admiration.

Beside him, Bilbo shook his head with a smile. Thorin nodded, and Legolas left. Tauriel flinched impeccably when the door closed, but moved closer to the table, closer to Kili.

“My main concern is Erebor,” Thorin admitted. “I don’t wish to leave the mountain ungoverned when it has barely been reclaimed.”

“You couldn’t leave now anyway, it’s too late in the year,” Dain told him. “You must remember what winters are like here, and they will only get worse the further north you go. I can stay until spring, and by that time your sister will have arrived.”

“That makes sense, Thorin,” Bilbo said. “It’ll give us time to practise our powers.”

Thorin mulled it over before agreeing. “We do need to practise.”

“Do you still want to see the dragon words today?” Bilbo asked him.

“Can we come?” Fili said, looking excited, and Kili jumped to his feet.

“ _Can_ we? You breathed fire yesterday, I want to see what else you can do!”

“It was incredible,” Dain said, looking eager.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing either,” Balin admitted.

Even Bard and Tauriel looked interested.

“Do you mind having an audience?” Thorin asked Bilbo, who shook his head.

“In all honesty, I was expecting it,” Bilbo said, with a good natured eye roll.

“Lead the way then, hobbit,” Dain said, standing with a groan, and they all trailed out of the room.

It somehow hadn’t occurred to Thorin that they would be re-entering the treasury and he hesitated outside. He could already feel the gold, see the distant shimmer of it.

“Are you alright?” Bilbo said quietly as the others trooped inside.

Thorin didn’t say anything, but he found himself reaching for Bilbo’s hand as they walked in.

The gold called to him, all the areas he hadn’t searched yet for the Arkenstone, but it was easier for Thorin to ignore it and focus on Bilbo, the warmth of his hand, and how sure he was of what they had to do.

“Here,” Bilbo said, looking at a fallen pillar with  carved into it. As before the word started to glow, brighter and brighter until the word burned itself into his soul.

“ _Zun,_ ” Bilbo said thoughtfully. “Weapon.”

“What do you think it does?” Fili asked, looking excited.

Thorin exchanged a glance with Bilbo, and together they shouted “ _zun_!”

Their voices echoed throughout the chamber, and all of the weapons that the others were holding – Tauriel and Kili’s bows, all of Fili’s blades, Balin’s sword, Dain’s warhammer, even the spears of Dain’s soldiers guarding the room – leapt out of hands and scabbards and went scattering across the room, leaving them all scrambling after them.

After a moment of shock, Kili whooped. “That was amazing!” he cheered.

“No wonder our warriors stood no chance against Smaug,” Thorin realised flatly, his anger towards Smaug bitter and terrible even after his death.

Kili’s smile faded. Bilbo squeezed his hand comfortingly.

“It’s worth knowing,” Balin said, but he looked as bleak as Thorin felt.

“The other word is this way,” Bilbo said quietly, and led them towards it again.

The writing on the wall,  , was glowing even before they reached it, and it seemed to take much less time before they absorbed it.

“What does that one mean?” Balin asked.

“ _Wuld,_ ” Thorin told him. “Whirlwind. Do you want to try it?” he asked Bilbo, who nodded.

They shouted together, and the treasury blurred around them as they suddenly found themselves standing on the other side of the room, as if they had been blown there by a giant gust of wind.

As the others applauded from where they had just been standing, Bilbo groaned, letting go of Thorin’s hand and slumping to the floor. Thorin found himself grinning.

“You enjoyed that!” Bilbo accused him shakily.

“I did,” Thorin admitted, unable to deny it. Speeding across the treasury had been a rush, he was still energised from it.

“Do you think there are any other words for us to find?” Thorin said, reaching down and tugging a complaining Bilbo to his feet.

They still had so much to do and plan, and Thorin had so much to consider, but for now he was content to try out his new powers with Bilbo, the call of the gold faint and distant.

\---

**Interlude - Dis**

There was a dragon skeleton outside of the Mountain.

Dis frowned at it. She barely remembered Smaug, but still. “I thought Smaug was bigger than that,” she mused out loud.

“Nah, that was the other dragon,” said one of the Iron Hills dwarves who had come from Erebor to escort them on the last leg of the journey.

“Other dragon!” Dis exclaimed. She’d been hurrying, eager to get to her sons, her brother, but she was even more impatient now.

Luckily, she didn’t have to wait much longer.

There was a retinue waiting outside for them, and at the front stood Fili and Kili, hale and whole, and just behind them was Thorin.

She rushed forward, and they to her, and they met in a hug that had the dwarves around them cheering.

As she entered the Mountain, she could see that a lot of work had been done to it over the winter, but her attention was less on that than it was on all the things that her sons were telling her. Her first few hours in Erebor were spent just listening to them.

Trolls, orcs, wargs, elves and dragons. She couldn’t believe how much danger they had been in.

And from the sound of it, their adventures weren’t over yet. Her brother and the hobbit that her brother had given a mithril shirt to (and they would certainly be revisiting that topic when they had some privacy) were Dragonborn and heading off onto another expedition?

In the midst of all the chatter, Dori, who she had only known slightly in the Blue Mountains, handed her a cup of tea. “You look like you need it,” he said with a smile, before bustling off and leaving her with her family.

She was so glad to see them, and so proud of them, but she just wished that they could all relax and enjoy their new home together, rather than face even more danger.

For now though, she could just enjoy spending time with the family she had missed so much, in the home they had fought so hard for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can't tell me that Thorin "calls a dragon fat right to his face to provoke him" Oakenshield wouldn't enjoy the whirlwind sprint shout!
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated, as ever.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is confused where they are going, here's a little map! I worked out that the journey was about 350 miles (could be wrong) which google tells me could be done in ten days on horseback, but I picture the journey to take about a month.
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> Also, apologies to anyone who is more competent with the dragon language than am. I was pretty much just winging the full sentences here!

It was a beautiful spring day, bright and warm, although there was still some snow on the peaks in the far north where they were headed.

It was a day of farewells. Not only were most of the Company (as well as Tauriel) accompanying him and Thorin on their way to the Grey Mountains, Dain and his chief advisers were heading back to the Iron Hills, and Bard was leading his people back to Dale.

Bilbo petted his goat as he waited for the rest of the Company to join him as he listened to all the speeches. It had been a gift from Dain, something that he understood was a great honour since the Iron Hills battle goats were particularly prized. He’d been a bit nervous around the goat, who he had named Thistle, at first, since he had barely got used to riding a pony and his curly horns were a bit threatening, but he had spent time over the winter learning to ride him, and winning him over with bits of apple and other treats, and he liked to think that they had become rather fond of each other.

It had been a busy winter in other ways too, and not just for him. The dwarves continued their restoration of Erebor, and Bilbo was amazed at how quickly the city came back to life around them. Much of the Mountain had been cleared of debris, many of the communal and living areas had been and were fit to live in, if not yet as rich and comfortable as Erebor had once been, and the forges were constantly working as the dwarves were busy with their repairs and crafting so the Mountain was always warm and full of life.

There was so much left to do, but Erebor was almost unrecognisable from the desolate ruin that Bilbo had first crept in to.

Thorin had not neglected his promise to Bard, either. The dwarves and men worked on the ruins of Dale as much as the weather allowed it, and there were enough whole buildings now for the people of Lake-town to live in as the rebuilding continued.

While Bilbo had not been able to help much directly with the construction efforts he had, along with Bombur and Tauriel, been in charge of their supplies and keeping a group of busy, hungry men and dwarves (plus one hobbit and elf) well fed, which had been something of a challenge.

Fortunately, between the supply runs from the Iron Hills, Tauriel’s experience with hunting and foraging, and his and Bombur’s skills in ensuring that no one left the table hungry, they got through the winter well enough (if without quite so many meals as a hobbit would prefer) and with spring and the arrival of the Lady Dis, and the provisions she brought from Ered Luin, it meant that the meals were far more substantial.

But Bilbo had been busy in other ways as well. Dwalin had taught him a little swordwork before the dragon had come, but afterwards the instruction continued with far more intensity. He had lessons every day, and he sparred with members of the Company (and as the winter went on, some of Dain’s dwarves and even a few men) until he was used to facing different weapons and fighting styles. He had also learned to fight with the spear that had been made for his size, weapons that would enable him to keep at a safer distance from any dragons that they would come across on their expedition, and to use a leather shield without dropping or fumbling with his weapons. When Nori and Fili discovered that he had good aim, they dug a brace of throwing knives out of the armoury for him to practise with.

His skill did not compare to his dwarven friends, who had all been warriors for far longer than he had been alive, but he would be able to hold his own in any battles they came across without needing to rely quite so much on his good luck.

He and Thorin had worked hard on mastering their Dragonborn abilities over the winter as well as everything else. They hadn’t found any more words of power, but they practised the ones they already knew every day (usually in front of an audience of rapt men and dwarves who never seemed to get tired of watching them breathe fire, speed around the Mountain or make weapons jump out of the hands of enthusiastic volunteers). Every evening, Thorin would practise the dragon language with him, or listen to whatever information he and Ori had uncovered about dragons that day in the library.

Afterwards the conversations would drift from there to other matters, usually over a mug of ale or a cup of tea (usually depending on whose room it was) and it was fair to say that those evenings were the best part of Bilbo’s day.

Bilbo felt like a very different sort of hobbit than the one that had first left Bag End, but in his sturdy dwarven-make trousers, leather tunic under a thick woollen coat, a helm, his mithril shirt, his sword, shield and spear, his secret hidden knives, and his magic ring hidden in his pocket, he felt a million times more prepared for this adventure than he was for his first.

“Are you ready?” Thorin asked him with a small smile, coming up to him with Dain, Dis and Bard, his hand lingering on the ancient dwarven sword that the elves had found. Thorin had cleaned and sharpened before repurposing it for his own use. Thorin was concerned about Erebor, about the dragons, Bilbo knew, but he also knew that gold still called to him, and he was still concerned about his missing Arkenstone, and he had confided to Bilbo that he was worried about losing himself to the gold-sickness. Bilbo thought that he was glad to be getting out of the Mountain, just for a while.

“I am,” Bilbo said, smiling back, although he was actually very sorry to be leaving just as he was feeling settled in Erebor. Thorin had given him the use of the ravens to send messages to the Shire, to let his family know that he was still alive, but Bilbo had started thinking of Erebor as his home, and he was definitely going to miss his new fireplace and his cosy little room in the Mountain.

“Good luck,” Bard said, reaching down to shake Bilbo’s hand, and nodding cordially at Thorin. The two of them would probably never be friends, but they had become fast allies over the winter. “And be careful.”

“We will,” Bilbo promised, waving goodbye to Bard’s children as he did. “Good luck with the rest of the rebuilding.”

“There'll be a lot of changes when you come back,” Bard said with a small smile, before he joined his children on the way to Dale.

“Goodbye, Master Baggins,” Dain said, tapping his forehead against Bilbo’s, not gently, but nowhere near as hard as he would to any of the other dwarves.

“It was a pleasure meeting you,” Bilbo said, and he meant it. Dain was loud and brash and short tempered, but he had become a good friend, he had taught him many tricks when it came to fighting with a spear, and Bilbo couldn’t help but admire his dedication to his own people in the Iron Hills, as well as Thorin’s.

Dain grinned at him, before turning to Thorin and hugging him roughly, full on bashing their foreheads together. “Anything you need, send word, cousin,” Dain told him. A couple of the younger ravens had agreed to follow them, in case they needed to send emergency messages.

“Thank you,” Thorin said. “For everything you’ve done for us.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Dain replied, unusually solemn, before they embraced again, exchanging some words in khuzdul. Dain continued his farewells among the rest of the Company as he headed towards his war pig.

“Take care of my brother,” Dis commanded, and while she was smiling, Bilbo knew she wasn’t joking. He and Dis had also become friends (although she had taken an inordinate amount of interest in his mithril shirt for some reason) over the last few months but he wouldn’t like to cross her.

“Always,” Bilbo promised, and out of the corner of his eye his saw Thorin flush, and he moved away so she could say a last private goodbye to her brothers and sons.

Of the company, only Balin, Dori and Bombur were not joining them on their journey. Balin was staying to assist Dis in running the Mountain. Dori had been responsible for setting up trade and commerce within and without the mountain, and now that the snows had gone, his role would be more important than ever, although he had been reluctant to stay when his brothers were leaving. As well as being responsible for their supplies, Bombur was one of the most experienced architects currently in Erebor and simply could not be spared.

It felt strange, their Company felt incomplete without them, and saying goodbye to them was harder than Bilbo expected as they exchanged hugs and headbumps. Dori pressed a pack of tea into his hands, Bombur a bag of cakes, and Balin some last minute advice and well-wishes, and Bilbo sharply wished that they were all staying together, even though he understood why they could not.

But finally, all the goodbyes were said, and everyone was mounted on their goats (aside from Tauriel, as there was not a goat big enough for her. She was on a swift elven horse that no one, not even her, was quite sure how it had arrived at the mountain) and they were off, heading north towards the Withered Heath.

\---

As little as he had been looking forward to it, Bilbo soon got back into the rhythm of travel, and the first few days were pleasant enough, once he got used to sleeping on the floor again, at any rate.

The journey went swiftly enough, although it was a little dull. The land immediately north of Erebor was still barren after Smaug, no hints yet of new growth or life, and there was little evidence of birds or animals either. They saw no sign of dragons or orcs either, however, so Bilbo didn’t feel as if he could complain.

But the further north they went, and the closer the mountains appeared, the more life appeared in the countryside, until two weeks into the journey when the lush greenery was interrupted by a stark, brown scar on the valley floor between two peaks in the Grey Mountains.

“That will be Withered Heath,” Ori said quietly. “Nothing grows where dragons live.”

The Withered Heath lay on the valley floor between two peaks of the Grey Mountains. It was dry and dusty, and had been for so long that not even the dead trees remained, just scattered rocks and long dead bones.

“Be on your guard,” Thorin warned. “If we come across any dragons here, remember what we planned.”

They all nodded. They had discussed several ways of dealing with dragons before they had left, but Bilbo knew actually facing one meant that all their plans could disintegrate in a moment.

“Do not drink from the water here,” Tauriel advised. “It is poison.”

Where once this may have got a sarcastic response from some of the Company, and pointed reminders of the enchanted stream, her comment was received with nothing but assent. Tauriel had worked hard for Erebor all winter, and dwarves respected hard work regardless of who was doing it.

The fact she very obviously adored Kili as much as he adored her helped a lot as well (even if the love-struck looks they exchanged so frequently caused groans and eye-rolls among the Company).

They hadn’t been travelling for too long before they came across the word  written on a wall above a large nest of what could only be dragon eggs. Bilbo dismounted from Thistle and took Thorin’s hand to examine the word, while the rest of the Company grimly smashed the eggs before they had a chance to hatch.

“What does that one say?” Oin asked loudly above the breaking shell.

“Storm,” Bilbo answered at the same time as Thorin as the word of power finished glowing.

“Are you going to try it?” Kili asked eagerly.

He exchanged a glance with Thorin and together they shouted “ _strun!_ ” Immediately, dark clouds rolled across what had previously been a clear blue sky, and torrential rain started to pour down on them, as fast, frequent bolts of lightning struck the ground around them.

They were forced to scramble for what little shelter there was underneath a nearby rock ledge, while their goats and Tauriel’s horse bleated and whinnied in fear.

“In hindsight, I don’t know what else we should have expected,” Bilbo remarked, spitting rainwater out of his mouth as he spoke.

He couldn’t see clearly, but he could feel the others glare at him. Thorin exchanged a glance with him, his mouth quirking in amusement, and suddenly they started laughing, to the rest of the Company’s disgust.

He was cold all over from the rain, but at least his hand was still warm from where he was holding Thorin’s.

Fortunately the storm didn’t last long, just for a few very intense minutes, and they could soon reassure their mounts and dry off before continuing their journey.

That night they were lucky enough to find a cave big enough for all of them and their mounts, and as they thoroughly checked the walls and floor before settling down, they found another word of power, , fury.

The others demanded that they practised it outside the cave, where it turned out that pairing _nah_ with _wuld_ made them sprint even further and faster, much to Thorin’s delight (and the dismay of Bilbo’s stomach, which had never quite got used to it, even after all their practice).

Late that night, they heard an enraged dragon cry back from the direction they had come.

“At least that storm washed away our scent,” Gloin pointed out in a hushed voice.

No one slept easily that night.

\---

The next morning they came across a dragon, napping on the stone in the sun.

They paused some distance away from it, downwind and unobserved.

“I think it’s a cold-drake,” Ori whispered. “I’ve been researching dragons with Bilbo and it looks like the diagram in the book.”

“What does that mean, Ori?” Nori asked him.

“It breathes ice instead of fire,” Ori said, fidgeting slightly at being the centre of attention.

“Good to know,” Dwalin said approvingly, and Ori smiled brightly at him, the two of them clearly forgetting about the dragon for a moment.

Bilbo shared an eye roll with Bofur. They were almost as bad as Kili and Tauriel.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, reaching for his hand, “we’ll go first, the rest of you circle around. Try and take it by surprise.”

They did take it by surprise, the dragon was slow and sluggish to respond, and the battle was vicious but brief, with only a few injuries and shivers caused by the ice breath.

Bilbo almost felt sorry for the dragon.

As the dragon’s flesh melted away, and he and Thorin glowed as they absorbed his soul, they saw the word  scratched into the rock where the dragon had been lying and when they shouted “ _fo_ ” they let out a breath of icy air.

\---

The next day they found a path that led out of the valley to the west, towards the parts of the Grey Mountains that had once been inhabited by the dwarves. The further they went from the Withered Heath, the more the land came back to life around them, and the more that the dwarves could see evidence that their people had once lived in these mountains. As they followed what had once been a road leading to the dwarven strongholds, the Company eagerly pointed out carvings, statues and quarries that had been shaped by dwarven hands to Bilbo.

Unlike Erebor, which was a singular mountain with one main entrance, there were several strongholds built into the Grey Mountains, each with an elaborate entrance built into the mountainside. But there were signs of old battles in the Grey Mountains, too. Dwarven statues had been broken and defaced by orcs, pillars had been toppled as dragons had flown into them or dragged them down, and some of the lesser strongholds they passed were broken open, ruined and desolate, filled with scattered bones and rusted armour, with scorch marks still on the walls. Any treasure that had once been in this stronghold had long since been looted, either by dragons or by orcs. There was no sign that either dragons or their priests still lived in those lesser strongholds.

The dwarves were grim and silent after that, and Bilbo couldn’t blame them. It had been hard seeing the evidence of the deaths in Dale and Erebor, and now they were seeing it all over again.

“We must almost be at the stronghold of Dain I,” Ori said, squinting in the fading light at the notes he had written. Nori was leading his goat as well as his own so he could read. “His stronghold was the largest and built the highest up. The account I read – ”

Dwalin reined in his goat sharply and held up a hand for silence. The rest of the dwarves and Tauriel drew their weapons, and Bilbo hurriedly did the same, just as a horde of orcs came rushing out of one of the stronghold entrances.

“Scatter them!” Thorin cried, wheeling his goat around and charging right at them, and everyone followed him, Bilbo a bit nervously as he had never fought for real while mounted. But the goat provided momentum, and he countered the strike of the orc that charged him, and ran him through, and did the same to another.

As the orcs drew back and reformed for another charge, Thorin reined his goat in ahead of the rest of the Company, and Bilbo stopped alongside him. They exchanged a quick glance, Thorin gestured with his hand, miming something leaping, and together they shouted “ _zun!_ ”

The weapons leapt out of the running orcs’ hands as the rest of the Company continued their charge, and after that the battle was over very quickly.

“Were these orcs following us?” Bilbo asked, accepting the cloth Thorin handed him to wipe down his blade. “Is Azog with them?”

“No,” Thorin replied, dismounting to kick one of the bodies over to look at the crude symbol painted on its ill-fitting armour. “These are Gundabad orcs. The Grey Mountains are crawling with them. It’s one of the reasons our people left. We couldn’t hold out against the orcs as well as the dragons.”

“We should move,” Fili said, still mounted, weapons still drawn. “It’s getting dark, and we need to find somewhere safe for the night.”

Thorin nodded, remounting and leading the way from the battle site.

They found an old dwarven outpost further up the path, one that was almost intact and not built further into the mountain, and they managed to squeeze all of them and their mounts inside.

Bilbo beckoned Thorin over to the entrance and took his hand, whispering his plan. Thorin smiled at him, obviously in agreement. They waited until the heard the clamour of approaching orcs, and then they shouted “ _strun!_ ” The orcs screeched in pain as the lightning strikes started, and by the time the storm died away, there was silence.

“We’ll keep a watch tonight,” Thorin announced as they crammed themselves into the building. “But that should be the last of them for now.”

“I’ll watch,” Tauriel volunteered. “I don’t need to sleep just yet.”

Thorin nodded in acceptance of her offer and Bilbo couldn’t help but smile, and it only grew when Kili not so subtly joined her at the door to the outpost.

“So we should reach Dain I’s stronghold by tomorrow, then?” Bilbo asked Ori. He had done as much studying as he could in Erebor’s library, but many of the books were in khuzdul which meant that Bilbo was reliant on Ori’s research.

Ori nodded from his place on the floor, squeezed in between Nori and Dwalin. “We’re not far now,” he assured them, waving his notebook as proof, already half asleep.

Bilbo knew how he felt. They couldn’t light a fire, but with all of them and their mounts crammed into a tiny space, it was incredibly warm. There wasn’t enough room for them all to lie down but Bilbo could feel his head nodding from where he was sat next to Thorin.

When he woke the next morning, his head was on Thorin’s shoulder, and Thorin’s cheek was resting against the top of his head. At some point a blanket had been wrapped around the two of them.

The rest of the Company was smirking at them, but Bilbo didn’t care. At that moment, in a tiny cramped room that smelt rather strongly of goat, far away from anywhere he would call home, he was perfectly content.

\---

The entrance to Dain I’s stronghold was easy to find. Like Erebor, there were massive dwarven figures carved into the side of the mountain (“ours are better,” Kili remarked, and Thorin smiled). But the doorway to the stronghold had been smashed beyond repair, and there was a large patch of dragon desolation outside of the doorway, presumably the site of the battle.

Worst of all, there were two bodies strung up on poles on either side of the ruined doorway, although there was little left of them other than armour that had been desecrated by orcs.

The dwarves all cried out in horror, and Thorin staggered back as if he had been struck.

“That’s royal armour,” Gloin said, sounding outraged, and Bifur cursed wildly in khuzdul, and Bilbo realised that the bodies must be those of Dain I and Fror, left outside as a warning, or a taunt.

Thorin drew himself up to his full height, his face angry but composed. “We will return them to stone when we are done here,” he said tightly. “Be prepared. We do not know what we will find here.”

The Company readied their weapons, and Tauriel returned from where she had hidden their mounts, speaking to them in elvish to calm them, and to make sure that they would stay.

Bilbo drew Sting and reached out for Thorin’s hand and their fingers tangled together. His heart was beating fast. He was nervous, and despite everything, he felt unprepared for what they may find within.

Unlike the rest of the strongholds that they had seen, there was no evidence that orcs had ever occupied it, but Bilbo had entered Erebor while Smaug had still lived there and he recognised the signs that a dragon dwelt there. The halls had been stripped, and dwarven bodies were still laying were they had died, untouched.

Thorin met his gaze briefly. He knew as well.

The first few halls they crept through were empty, but one large room that had probably been a communal dining room was occupied.

But not by a dragon. There was a man standing in the middle of the room, almost as tall as Gandalf, his face hidden by a painted wooden mask, the same as the one that Tauriel and Legolas had found in Dale. He was carrying an unsheathed dwarven blade and a shield.

He had to be a dragon priest.

They regarded each other in silence for a few moments.

“Who are you to stand in my ancestor’s kingdom?” Thorin demanded when he did not speak. His voice echoed as angrily throughout the room as if he had used a word of power.

“Your ancestors are dead,” the dragon priest answered, his voice hoarse and his accent strange, “and you and your people will be next. The great dark shadow is growing.”

Thorin scowled and started towards him. The man shifted his stance, and then barked “ _fus ro dah!_ ”

It was like being punched in the stomach by a stone giant. He and Thorin went flying backwards, breaking their grip on each other’s hands, and tumbling into the rest of the Company, knocking them all down, before he dived forwards, ready to skewer Bilbo with his blade.

Bilbo rolled, throwing one of his little hidden knives at the dragon’s priest face as he did. It clattered harmlessly off his mask, but it made him flinch and bought Bilbo enough time to scramble to his feet and adjust his grip on Sting, before jabbing forwards, aiming at his legs.

From behind them, Kili had started shooting arrows, while Tauriel leapt forwards, graceful as a dancer, stabbing high then low with her blade. One blade dug into his armpit, then the dragon priest jerked himself away, spinning around just to take Bofur’s mallet directly to his face. The impact cracked his mask, and left him reeling.

The dragon priest cried out in pain, then took in a deep breath. He started to shout “ _fus –_ ” again, but Thorin was up on his feet again.

He braced himself, gripping Bilbo’s arm as he did to hold them steady, and they exchanged a lightning fast look of understanding. Together they shouted “ _yol!_ ” and the dragon priest threw up his hands with a cry, distracted enough that Fili could come up behind him and stab him through the chest.

The moment the dragon priest fell dead to the floor, a massive angry roar shook the floor beneath them.

“The dragon knows its carer is dead,” Dwalin guessed with a scowl.

“Is everyone alright?” Bilbo asked, as everyone brushed themselves off. The word of power knocking them down had given them all a few bruises, but no one was really hurt.

“How could it use the dragon words?” Kili asked in confusion.

“Gandalf said that anyone can learn to use them, but it takes a lot of time and dedication,” Ori answered.

“If he was stuck here with nothing but a dragon for company, I guess he had the time,” Fili said wryly. Thorin squeezed his shoulder, and Fili grinned at him.

“Thorin,” Bilbo called him over as he saw that  had been carved over the doorway, and the word glowed as Thorin came over to take his hand, burning its way into their soul. Force. Balance. Push.

“Can you do the knocking down thing now?” Bofur asked, his grin only growing when Thorin smirked.

“I think so,” Bilbo confirmed.

“Let’s find this dragon,” Thorin said, blazing with anger and battle-fever, and he led the way out of the room to the heart of the stronghold. Bilbo sheathed Sting and drew his spear as he followed him, making sure that his shield sat correctly on his arm.

It must have been a throne room once, but now it contained the dragon’s horde. It was not as vast as Erebor’s treasury, but it was still an impressive mound of treasure. Thorin frowned and shook his head at the first glint of gold, and he reached out and caught Bilbo’s hand.

Bilbo squeezed his hand back once, and that was all they had time for before the dragon was upon them. It was not as big as Smaug had been, but it was bigger than any dragon they had seen since, but as it reared up over them, Bilbo noticed that its armour was patchy, and that its wings were stiff and unmoving.

“It can’t fly!” Bilbo exclaimed, then had to dive out of the way, letting go of Thorin’s hand as it turned and snapped at him.

It might not have been able to fly, but it was impossibly fast for its size.

“It’s a cold-drake!” Ori warned just as the dragon let out a stream of ice, and Bilbo had enough warning to duck his face behind his shield to protect it. He was forced to drop his shield afterwards however, as it was too cold and heavy with the ice for him to hold.

As the dragon breathed ice at him, the others surrounded it, hammering and stabbing at its poorly protected sides with their weapons, finding weak spots and causing it to bellow in pain. Kili shot arrow after arrow at its face, managing to blind it as the dragon tried to snap again at Bilbo.

Thorin sliced deeply at the dragon’s neck as he made his way over to Bilbo, and as it reared back, Bilbo saw a loose scale on its chest, and rammed his spear into it as hard as he could, though it stuck and he was forced to let go and draw Sting.

Thorin gripped his wrist, and together they breathed fire at the dragon, and it was a combination of the fire, all its injuries, and Bifur cutting deeply into its side that caused it to shudder all over and dissolve into light as he and Thorin absorbed another dragon’s soul.

They were all left panting and exhausted in the aftermath. Bilbo picked up his spear from where it had rolled free when the dragon's body dissipated.

“Take five minutes and then look around,” Thorin ordered. “There must be some reason why the dragon priest was here.”

“What is the great dark shadow that the priest mentioned?” Tauriel wondered aloud, crossing nimbly over the piles of treasure.

Thorin gritted his teeth, and turned away. “I have to leave,” he murmured to Bilbo, looking ashamed.

“Alright,” Bilbo agreed, moving to join him, but Thorin shook his head.

“If you see any words of power, I’ll come back, but I need…”

He didn’t finish, but Bilbo nodded in understanding as Thorin headed back outside. Dwalin said nothing to him, but he clapped him on the back as he followed after Thorin.

Bilbo poked around the treasury, looking at the fallen pillars and walls to see if there was any dragon writing when Ori called him over in excitement to where the throne had once been.

“Bilbo, look!” he said, and Bilbo looked at the wall where a message had been scratched in the dragon writing, only revealed when the throne had been pulled from its dais.

 

“It’s not a word of power,” Bilbo said slowly, “give me a moment.”

He murmured to himself, sounding out the letters as he did, hearing Ori do the same. Neither of them were fluent in the language, they had only taught themselves the basics from very simple lessons.

“I think it says ‘Dragonborn, when the great dark shadow comes, seek Durin’s crown,’” Bilbo said, after long moments of frowning at the wall.

“Yes, that’s what I think too,” Ori said, sounding confused.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Fili objected. “Durin I’s crown was lost long ago.”

“Every time Durin is reborn, a new crown is made,” Gloin agreed. “Which crown is it talking about?”

Bofur shrugged helplessly. “How are we supposed to know?”

“Did anyone see anything else?” Bilbo asked, and everyone shook their heads. “Let’s go and tell Thorin, then."

\---

When they headed back outside, Thorin and Dwalin had cut the bodies of Dain I and Fror down from their poles, and were busily constructing cairns out of stone to cover them.

Thorin wiped his brow, sweating from more than just physical labour, if Bilbo guessed correctly.

“Did you find a word of power?” Thorin asked him.

“No,” he replied, “but there was a message for us carved into the wall behind the throne in the dragon language.”

Thorin frowned. “For us? What did it say?”

“’Dragonborn, when the great dark shadow comes, seek Durin’s crown,’” Bilbo recited.

“But it didn’t say which Durin, or which crown!” Ori exclaimed in annoyance.

But to Bilbo’s surprise, Thorin was smiling. “You’ve worked it out, haven’t you?” he asked, starting to smile himself.

Thorin took a deep breath, and started to sing.

 _“But still the sunken stars appear_  
_In dark and windless Mirrormere;_  
_There lies his crown in water deep,_  
_Till Durin wakes again from sleep.”_

Bilbo stood, entranced by Thorin’s voice long before he registered what the song was about, but the other dwarves all exclaimed in understanding.

“In our histories,” Thorin explained to both him and Tauriel, who were still confused, “it says that when Durin, first of the dwarven fathers, awoke from his sleep, he looked at his reflection in the Mirrormere, a lake so clear it reflects the stars even during the day, and saw the stars make a crown across his forehead.”

“So whoever left us this message wants us to go to and look the Mirrormere,” Bilbo said thoughtfully.

“I wonder who could leave that message. Only a dwarf would know our history, but what dwarf would know the dragon language?” Thorin mused, coming to sit next to Bilbo on the steps to the stronghold.

“I suppose there is only one way to really know,” Bilbo said. “Where is the Mirrormere?”

Thorin was quiet for a long moment. “Moria,” he replied quietly.

Bilbo thought back on Balin’s tale, so long ago now, of the Battle of Azanulbizar and of what Thorin had lost there.

He reached out and took Thorin’s hand for no other reason than to try and comfort him.

He’d hoped that there would be answers here, but there was nothing but more questions, and a journey that was far from finished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some debate about whether Tolkien's cold-drakes can fly or if they had any breath powers, but since this is skyrim fusion I just went with it! 
> 
> The song Thorin sings at the end is [The Song of Durin](http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Song_of_Durin/), by Tolkien. 
> 
> This is my favourite chapter so far, so any comments or kudos are appreciated even more than usual!


	8. Chapter 8

The journey back to Erebor was uneventful (although the Bilbo of a year ago would not have called a brief orc skirmish and one dragon attack uneventful), and Bilbo couldn’t deny that his heart got lighter and lighter the closer they got to the Mountain.

Thorin, on the other hand, had been in a very subdued mood ever since they had left the dwarven stronghold, and he only seemed to get more downcast the closer they got to Erebor, even despite the best efforts of the Company to lighten his mood.

But Thorin couldn’t help but smile when he saw his sister meet them at the door of the kingdom, and when he saw how much work had been done in his absence.

“It looks like home again,” he said softly, and the members of the Company that had lived in Erebor agreed, and the dwarves that had been involved in the construction practically glowed because of the praise of their king.

Late that night though, after the welcome home feast and all the catching up they had done with Balin, Dori and Bombur, Bilbo lay in his bed in his comfortable room that was only more comfortable since his return, and he could not sleep.

He wasn’t sure why. There was something pulling at him, tugging at his soul, so he rose and dressed with a sigh and headed off to try and discover what was bothering him.

Most of Erebor seemed to either be asleep, or still feasting, and the corridors were mostly deserted. Bilbo left his feet wander in no particular direction until he came to the treasury, where Bilbo found Balin and Dis standing outside, looking concerned.

“What’s wrong?” Bilbo asked them quietly.

“Thorin’s in there,” Dis answered tensely. “He asked if we had found the Arkenstone while you were away.”

“I take it you didn’t?” Bilbo checked, and Dis shook her head.

She straightened her dress in a way that betrayed her nerves. “I’m worried that – ”

She didn’t finish, but she didn’t have to as both Bilbo and Balin shook their heads.

“It’s not the gold sickness again, I’m sure of it,” Balin said.

“I don’t think so, either,” Bilbo said, remembering how low Thorin had been on the way home.

“Will you speak with him?” Dis asked him quietly. “I am… reluctant to go in the treasury myself.” At Bilbo’s surprised look, she raised her eyebrow at him. “I am also of Durin’s line. I fear the curse that is in our blood.”

“The line of Durin,” Balin sighed, “is full of champion brooders. You’ll have to go into the treasury one day, my lady. Talk to him, laddie. I’m going back to bed.”

“I will,” Bilbo promised. “Goodnight Balin, Dis.”

“I’ll see you in the morning for our meeting,” Balin said with a small smile. He put his hand around Dis’ shoulder comfortingly and led her away as Bilbo slipped into the treasury.

There had obviously been a lot of work done organising and cataloguing the treasure since they had been away, and some of it had been given to the men of Dale, but the contents of the treasury were still vast beyond Bilbo’s ability to comprehend it.

Thorin was sat on a stone bench by a small table that someone had dragged into the room. There were stacks of ledgers on the table, filled with neat dwarven runes that Bilbo couldn’t read, presumably listing the treasure that had already been organised.

Thorin wasn’t looking at the treasure. He wasn’t really looking at anything, but he shifted along on the bench without a word so that Bilbo could sit next to him.

After a few moments of silence, Thorin sighed. “I just keep thinking of that moment in the Grey Mountains, when the dragon was dead, and I was wondering how I could transport that treasure home, how to add it my horde here – my horde – as if I were a dragon myself!”

“But you didn’t act on it,” Bilbo said, as reassuringly as he could. “You went away from the treasure.”

Even when, with Thorin’s permission, the other dwarves picked a few small items of treasure out of that horde before they sealed the treasury away the best they could, both to protect the treasure from orcs or dragons or looters, and to protect the message written on the wall, Thorin had not taken a thing. Even Bilbo had picked up a beautifully engraved silver bookmark, and Tauriel had allowed Kili to braid beads and tiny gemstones into her hair.

“My grandfather was a hero,” Thorin mused quietly. “He kept our people together when he brought them here from the Grey Mountains, he made this kingdom one of peace and prosperity, and even after Smaug he tried to reclaim Khazad-dûm – Moria – so that our people would have a home. He died in the attempt. And all that anyone remembers of him now is his gold-sickness.” He sighed. “I am just like him at his worst, and nothing like him at his best.”

Bilbo leant closer to Thorin and laced their fingers together. Since they had become Dragonborn, touch had become second nature between them. “You know, you are the only that thinks badly of you,” he scolded gently. “You should hear the songs and stories your people tell of you – how you kept them safe for years and how you won them a home! And I know you, Thorin. You are an honourable dwarf, and a true friend, and there is no one else I would rather share a soul with.”

Some of the tension leeched out of Thorin’s shoulders, and his ears turned pink. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Bilbo knew that his words weren’t a magic solution, that Thorin would still struggle to forgive himself, and to think better of himself, but if his words helped him at all, Bilbo would repeat them as often as he could.

\---

The next morning, they all gathered around to look at the map and to plan the next stage of their journey.

“The quickest way to Moria is through Mirkwood,” Balin pointed out, drawing a line through the map. He’d gone pale when they mentioned Moria, but he hadn’t commented otherwise.

“That could be a problem,” Bilbo remarked, noting Thorin’s deep frown. “Even if King Thranduil didn’t interfere with our journey we would still have to leave the path, or go all the way back towards the Carrock and travel down the river from there.”

“That worked out great last time,” Dwalin commented sarcastically.

“I could lead you through the forest,” Tauriel said calmly. “I know it well. But my king would not welcome your presence, nor mine, I suspect.”

“He’s welcome to try and stop us,” Thorin said, to a chorus of approval. Bilbo rolled his eyes, catching sight of Dis doing the same, and Balin looking like he would dearly wish to.

“I believe Thranduil will more accommodating than you expect, Thorin,” Dis said, sounding smug.

“What did you do when I was gone?” Thorin asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at his sister.

“Nothing,” she said innocently. “But while you were away we had an interesting message from Mirkwood.”

“Well?” Thorin said impatiently when she didn’t continue and Dis laughed at him, before quickly becoming serious again.

“The orcs that inhabited Dol Guldur have left,” Dis said. “Azog was leading them.”

“Where did they go?” Thorin asked.

“The ravens say to the northwest,” Balin said. “Towards Gundabad.”

“But that’s not all the message said,” Dis continued. “The elves found a group of masked men in the woods.”

“Dragon priests or just weirdos?” Bofur asked.

“Dragon priests,” Dis confirmed, her mouth twitching. “They dug up the grave of a long-dead dragon, chanted at the bones in a strange language, and the dragon came back to life.”

“That makes sense,” Bilbo said thoughtfully. “Dragons only stay dead forever if a Dragonborn absorbs its soul. There must be some process to bring them back.”

“But who is doing it?” Ori wondered aloud.

“Thranduil sent a message that he would like to make a treaty with you,” Dis said.

She sounded calm, but Bilbo noticed that her angry expression was almost exactly the same as Thorin’s.

“Now that it his people at risk from a dragon, he is suddenly interesting in keeping a treaty,” Thorin growled. “We can get to Moria another way.”

“We can,” Balin agreed calmly. “But it would take far longer.”

“We are in a position of power here, Thorin, and as little as I like him, I think it is worth negotiating. It’s not like he can turn elsewhere and find another Dragonborn,” Dis said.

Thorin scowled and crossed his arms. “Can I leave you to do the negotiations with that –” he broke off into a khuzdul term that made the dwarves in the room chuckle, before turning to Tauriel. “Present company excluded, of course.”

Dis smiled, tight and fierce. “Oh, I can negotiate alright. Get everything you need for your journey together. I suspect it won’t take long.”

\---

Within a week, Dis had arranged for them to have free passage through Mirkwood whenever they needed, as well as an arm escort, and information relayed to them by elven scouts. In return they would support Mirkwood if a dragon attacked.

“I had to promise Thranduil that we would return the Gems of Lasgalen though,” Dis said apologetically.

Thorin shrugged. Bilbo knew he was still unhappy about the whole situation, if not about letting the gems go, specifically. “They were garish, anyway.”

“But I got him to return your sword, and all the other equipment that you lost in Mirkwood,” Dis continued. “And I got him to apologise to Tauriel.”

Thorin actually smiled then.

\---

They had barely been home for a week before they were ready to leave again.

“I was just feeling settled,” Bilbo complained to Thorin as he packed his gear on Thistle’s back. Tauriel had promised them a route that would allow them to take their mounts.

“I’m glad that you are comfortable here,” Thorin replied, handing him his spear. “I hope you know that you’re welcome as long as you like, not just for as long as we need to stay together to fight dragons.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo said, touched at Thorin’s words. They smiled at each other, and as Bilbo turned away, he caught sight on the Company – the whole Company, this time - exchanging exasperated glances and rolling eyes for some reason, before the elven scouts form Mirkwood joined them.

Amongst them was Prince Legolas, who apologised lowly and sheepishly to Tauriel before they set out.

Mirkwood was as dark and unpleasant as their first journey, although with the presence of the elves and the absence of spiders, the journey went a lot smoother.

They did stop at the location where the dragon priests had revived the dragon. There was nothing really to see other than some disturbed soil and  on the stones next to it. Unlike most of the dragon words they had come across, which looked like they had been scratched into the stone, this word looked almost as if it had been burned into the rock somehow.

Once the word of power finished glowing, and they absorbed its meaning, Bilbo exchanged an uneasy glance with Thorin.

“What does that one mean?” Balin asked, catching their silent exchange.

“Flesh, time, undo,” Thorin answered slowly. “It must be a word of power to reanimate dead dragons.”

“That’s one word of power we’ll never be using,” Bilbo promised.

Other than that, the journey was uneventful, and before long they reached the borders of Mirkwood. “This is as far as we can go,” Legolas told them. “The Anduin river is a short walk from here, and our people have concealed boats on the bank. Tauriel can show you where they are. If you cross it here, you can reach the Dimril Dale without going through the borders of Lorien. We will wait here with your mounts to escort you back through the woods when your business is complete.”

Thorin nodded shortly, and began to unload his gear from his goat. He pointedly strapped Orcrist to his back, but he was still carrying his ancient dwarven blade. Bilbo thought that his grim silence was as much to do with the fact that they would soon be returning to Azanulbizar as it was because Legolas was Thranduil’s son.

They their goodbyes to the elves and walked the short distance to river, where Tauriel revealed the boat. It took them several journeys to get everyone across, though Bilbo found himself clinging nervously to Thorin’s hand as they crossed together.

Bilbo still didn’t like boats, or water, and none of his recent experiences had been enough to change his mind.

When every crossed, they set up camp in a sheltered rocky alcove set away from path.

“Bilbo and I will go and look into Kheled-zâram alone, while it’s still daylight,” Thorin said, and held up his hand to stall the inevitable objections. “At this time, the orcs should all be within Khazad-dûm, but there may be scouts, and the more of us there are, the easier we are to spot.”

There was some grumbling, but no one objected to Thorin’s reasoning. But the dwarves all looked grim, and Bilbo knew that none of them really wanted a reminder of the terrible battle they had once faced here.

Bilbo nodded as reassuringly as he could, seeing the concern in the faces of the older dwarves who had also been there, and followed close to Thorin as he headed towards the path to the Dimril Dale. He drew Sting, reassured that it was only faintly glimmering. Thorin remained tense and wary, however, and he stopped and stared for a long moment as the east gate of Moria came into view.

Bilbo could only imagine how painful his memories were. Bilbo stood silently next to him, his hand on Thorin’s arm, until he sighed deeply. “Let’s look in the lake and be done with it,” he said roughly. “I have no wish to be here any longer than we have to be.”

“How will we know where Durin looked into the Mirrormere?” Bilbo asked, trotting alongside him.

“Our ancestors marked the spot on the bank of the Mirrormere with a pillar,” Thorin explained. “It still stands, although the orcs have tried to destroy it. It’s not far from here.”

They moved cautiously, but although Sting’s glow got brighter the closer they got to the Mirrormere, it was still faint enough to reassure them that there were no orcs in the immediate vicinity.

“Oh!” Bilbo exclaimed as they got close enough to the water of the Mirrormere that he could see into it. “That’s so beautiful.”

Even though it was almost midday, the surface of the water was speckled with starlight. Bilbo stopped and stared at it transfixed for several long moments, until Thorin gently put his hand on his arm.

“Right,” Bilbo said, still unable to tear his eyes away. But the pillar they were heading towards was easily spotted, even though it was half collapsed, the dwarven runes painted over by crude orcish graffiti and that Bilbo was distracted by how beautiful the sparkling water was.

Thorin crouched down and looked into the glittering waters, and his reflection wore a crown of seven bright stars. “It suits you,” Bilbo said, meaning it, and Thorin gave him a sardonic look in response. But before he could reply, Bilbo put his hand on his shoulder, leaning over him so he could see his reflection too, and as soon as he did, a word of power started to glow under the surface of the water.

 

“Hero, champion, legend,” Bilbo said aloud once they had absorbed it. “What do you think it does?”

Thorin reached up to cover Bilbo’s hand where it was still on his shoulder, and together they chanted “ _hun kaal zoor!_ ”

Their voices made the surface of the lake tremble, but for a long moment nothing else happened. Then a dwarf stepped onto the surface of the Mirrormere as if he had walked out of an invisible door, and walked towards them. His feet didn’t touch the surface of the water.

“A wraith?” Bilbo wondered. Thorin rose to his feet next to him and drew Orcrist.

The dwarf stopped in front of them and smiled. His features were stern, but the smile made him seem friendly. His armour was elaborate, even by dwarven standards, but was oddly shimmery and iridescent. His skin was a warm brown colour and his dark hair and beard were elaborately braided with dozens of golden beads, and he moved without sound, no footsteps, no creaking of armour, no clinking of hair beads.

He was not a wraith, but he was very clearly a ghost.

Thorin let out a breath of surprise and recognition.

“Azaghal?” he said slowly, his sword lowering to his side.

The other dwarf smiled. “You recognise me?” His accent was strange, but recognisable.

“Your portraits in our histories is quite accurate,” Thorin answered, sounding stunned.

“That’s good to know.” He inclined his head towards Bilbo. “I am Azaghal, Lord of Belegost.”

“Belegost?” Bilbo repeated in disbelief. “The dwarven kingdom destroyed at the end of the First Age?”

Azaghal smiled at his amazement. “The same.” He moved closer, but didn’t move away from the surface of the lake. “I’ve come to aid you, Dragonborn to Dragonborn.”

“You’re Dragonborn too?” Bilbo asked eagerly.

“Azaghal fought against the dragon Glaurung,” Thorin told him, sounding awed. “If it hadn’t been for him and his dwarves the elven armies would have been wiped out in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears.”

“Glaurung did manage to kill me,” Azaghal said wryly. “Don’t be too impressed.”

Thorin’s awe-struck expression did not change in the slightest.

“Did you send us that message?” Bilbo asked him. “How did you manage it?”

“Believe it or not, not all dragons serve evil,” Azaghal said with a shrug. “There are a few more or less decent ones out there who live in high remote places where they can be left alone, and one or two of them owe me a favour. They left the message in a few places in the hope that you would see them and seek me out.”

“Dragons that are… alive now?” Bilbo inquired, confused.

“We’re Dragonborn,” Azaghal told them firmly. “Our souls are not fully dwarven – or hobbit, in your case. Death is not as limiting to us as it is to others. Remember that, when your time comes.”

“Why did you wish to speak to us?” Thorin asked him, although frowning in puzzlement at Azaghal’s words.

“Because a great dark shadow is coming,” Azaghal said, voice deadly serious. “When the White Council defeated the Necromancer in Dol Guldur, and with Smaug dead and his soul beyond recovery, the Dark Lord has been forced to think of another plan – with the last of his strength, he has sent out his dragon priests to revive the dragon Ancalagon the Black.”

“But wasn’t he killed by Earendil?” Bilbo asked. “I’m sure Gandalf mentioned that he was Dragonborn too?”

“He is,” Azaghal agreed, “but for some reason Earendil did not absorb his soul. We still don’t know why – the soul was too large perhaps, or he fell too far from Earendil when he died, but either way, the dragon priests have now found his body.”

“Gundabad,” Thorin guessed, and he and Azaghal shared a dark look.

“Ancalagon the Black cannot be permitted to be revived,” Azaghal warned, his voice deadly serious. “Ancalagon is as alike to Smaug as a warg is to a newborn puppy. He is taller than Erebor itself, and when he fell from the sky he shattered mountain ranges. It would be a disaster for all the free peoples of Middle Earth, and the Dark Lord’s victory would almost be assured.”

“What must we do?” Thorin asked.

“We’ve been discussing it – some other Dragonborn, and a couple of dragons,” Azaghal clarified. “The dragon priests are still attempting to revive him, although they have yet to succeed, but we have been working on a word of power that will destroy him utterly.”

Azaghal took a deep breath and shouted “ _joor zah frul!_ ” and his voice burned the dragon letters  into the ground at their feet.

“Dragons are immortal,” Azaghal reminded them. “They cannot die unless a Dragonborn absorbs their soul. These words of power – mortal, finite, temporary – are concepts they do not understand, and cannot protect themselves against it. It is a powerful weapon for you to use against Ancalagon.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” Thorin said, bowing his head deeply, and Bilbo echoed his words.

Azaghal smiled at them again. His entire body had started to flicker like his armour. He was fading away into nothing. “I cannot stay,” he said apologetically. “Good luck, Dragonborn. I have every faith in both of you. If you need me again, you know what to do.”

By this point, he was nothing but a shimmer above the water, and then he was gone.

“We should return to the Company,” Thorin said, and while he was still staring at the water in amazement, his voice was firm. “And then we must plan on how we are getting to Gundabad.”

But when they returned to the Company, they were not alone. A group of elves were with them.

“Greetings,” one of them said as they approached. “I am Haldir, Marchwarden of Lothlórien. I bring a message from my Lord and Lady. They wish to speak with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love the hint in the game that the Dragonborn can basically go where they like after death. And since I want Bilbo and Thorin to end up in the same place somehow that works out well for me.
> 
> Comments and kudos loved and appreciated as ever. 
> 
> Last chapter up tonight!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you do anything else scroll up and check out the gorgeous art by [mithrilbikini!](http://mithrilbikini.tumblr.com/post/145135094882/and-heres-the-art-i-made-for-serenbach86s-hbb) If you like it, please follow the link and show it some love on tumblr.

Of all the places on earth that Thorin had ever thought he would go – of all the places on earth he wanted to go – it was fair to say that Lothlórien was on the bottom of both lists. They cared nothing for his people, they had closed their borders against them long ago, and Thorin did not think much of them in return. They had turned their backs not only on the suffering of his people, but on the struggles of the rest of Middle Earth.

He would have refused, still wanted to, if he had not just been informed of what great danger they were all in, but he, grudgingly, accepted the invitation. There had been an unpleasant moment when Haldir had attempted to blindfold them and it was only Bilbo’s wide-eyed distress that stopped it from happening. Bilbo smirked at him once Haldir’s back was turned.

Sometimes it astounded Thorin just how much he had underestimated Bilbo when they first met.

Bilbo and Tauriel were in their elements anyway, looking around at the enormous golden trees with every sign of pleasure, engaging the elves and allowing Thorin to speak quietly in khuzdul, catching the rest of his Company up on what had happened.

Ori looked green with envy when he heard about Azaghal.

As the day wore on, Haldir stopped them at the bottom of a giant tree. “We will not reach Caras Galadhon before nightfall. We will rest here tonight.”

They all stared up at the tree, and then back at Haldir, who called out something in Sindarin. A rope ladder tumbled down from the top of the tree.

“These are known as _Telain_ ,” Haldir informed them. “Our scouts use them when the patrol the forest. We can rest here tonight.”

Tauriel went first, then one by one they all started climbing the rope ladder. Bilbo shook his head when it was his turn. “I’ve climbed more trees since I left the Shire with you than I have since I was a fauntling,” he grumbled.

Thorin just smiled at held the ladder steady for him as he climbed.

On the flat platform at the top of the tree, the elves had set out food and blankets for them, and the Company ate and spoke quietly amongst themselves, until one by one, they all dropped off to sleep, and only he had Bilbo were awake.

Bilbo had wrapped himself in a blanket, but he was still uneasily sitting up. “I can’t help but worry that I’ll roll of the edge of the platform in the night,” Bilbo said sheepishly when he caught Thorin’s querying look.

“Come and sleep on this side of me,” Thorin said, indicating the side furthest from the edge. “I’ll stop you falling if you roll this way, and I’m sure the elves will grab you if you roll the other.”

“Very practical,” Bilbo complimented him, and gathered his blankets so he could tuck himself against Thorin’s side. Thorin put his arm around him once he had stopped wiggling.

“Goodnight, Bilbo,” he whispered.

“Goodnight,” he replied, and he tilted his head up at the same time as Thorin dipped his, and they kissed each other goodnight as easily and naturally as if they had kissed a thousand times before.

It wasn’t a surprise, or a revelation, it just felt right. He had known how he had felt for some time now, it had lingered between them, unspoken, and while this wasn’t how or where he would have chosen for their first kiss, he didn’t regret it for a moment.

Bilbo cuddled up closer, and Thorin held him tighter as they drifted off to sleep.

They woke to the grinning faces of their Company, and lots of coin exchanging hands.

\---

Thorin was grudgingly impressed by Caras Galadhon. It did not compare to Erebor, of course, but the city built in the high tree canopies was remarkable, even so.

The Lord and Lady of Lothlórien, both tall and dressed in white, waited for them.

“Welcome to Lothlórien,” the Lady said. “I am Galadriel, and this is my husband Celeborn. We welcome you among us.”

Thorin privately thought that Celeborn didn’t look all that welcoming but he didn’t say anything.

Within his head, he heard her voice, gentle and amused. _Welcome, Dragonborn._

By the expression on Bilbo’s face, he had heard it too.

“It’s good to see you all again,” a familiar voice said from behind them, and they all turned around in surprise.

“Gandalf!” Bilbo exclaimed, and the wizard smiled warmly at him

“We asked you here because we have grave news,” the Lady Galadriel continued.

“Is this about Ancalagon the Black?” Thorin asked, folding his arms and relishing the look of surprise on the faces of both elves.

Gandalf however, threw his head back and laughed. “You have been busy! Well done!”

“We did try to send you a message,” Thorin told him pointedly.

“The return of Ancalagon the Black would be terrible beyond imagining,” Lord Celeborn said. “You have our aid, Dragonborn.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo said gratefully.

As the elves continued to converse with Bilbo, Gandalf beckoned him to one side, and Thorin followed, the serious expression on the wizard’s face making him tense.

\---

Later, Bilbo found him, rubbing absently at his chest as though something was paining him. “What’s wrong?” Bilbo asked him, sitting down close to him.

“Gandalf found my father in Dol Guldur,” Thorin said, feeling the ache of loss that he had never quite come to terms with. “He did not survive.”

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo said, putting his arm around his shoulders, and Thorin leant into him, soaking in his presence.

Thorin had known that it was unlikely that his father survived, but there was part of him that had never given up hope, and it hurt.

They sat in silence for a while until Thorin sighed. “Are we ready to leave in the morning?”

“Yes,” Bilbo answered, drawing away, but only far enough to look into his face. “The Lady Galadriel has offered to send some elven archers with us when we go to Gundabad.” Thorin nodded, forcing his mind back to business. “She also let me look in her mirror.”

“Why?” Thorin asked, preoccupied. “You always look fine.”

Even in his distracted frame of mind, Thorin made note of how flustered Bilbo got at what was admittedly a lukewarm compliment.

“Yes, well, no, not that sort of mirror!” Bilbo exclaimed, still a little embarrassed. “It’s magic, of sorts. You can see the past, or the future, or things happening elsewhere.”

“That is useful,” Thorin admitted. “What did you see?”

“I saw a mountain,” Bilbo began, slowly, eyes half closed as he thought. “On the inside, the architecture looks like Erebor, but older, and ruined. There was darkness inside the mountain, but the shadows in the mountain… they moved and flowed and changed.” His voice was troubled, and Thorin reached out and squeezed his hand.

“Do you think you saw Gundabad?” Thorin asked, and Bilbo shrugged helplessly. “Whether or not it was, we need to get there as soon as possible.”

Bilbo nodded in agreement, and leant back against Thorin’s side, making himself comfortable, keeping him company in his distraction for the rest of the night.

\---

**Interlude – Dis**

The last thing Dis expected when her brother returned to the Mountain was to be leading a small army of elves. She recognised the armour of the Mirkwood elves, but some of them were wearing golden armour in a style she didn’t recognise.

“What in Mahal’s name did you _do_?” Dis demanded, one arm around Kili and Fili as she stared at the elves making camp at the base of the Mountain.

“It’s not what we did,” Thorin said, giving a pained glance back towards the elves. “It’s what we found out.”

Dis listened in amazement, and then dawning horror, as Thorin described meeting Azaghal and going to Lothlórien, and knowing that they would soon be leaving to try and prevent a dragon larger and fiercer than Smaug from taking away everything they had worked so hard to regain, and that her family would be heading straight back into danger.

Dis felt angry, and weary, and discouraged. These were all things that she had been used to in Ered Luin, but experiencing them now, in Erebor, in what should have been their new start left her feeling dejected.

They worked late into the night, making plans, and sending ravens with warnings to every kingdom, as well as requests for aid. One by one, her sons, Thorin’s Company, and Erebor’s advisors and the wizard all retired for the night.

Eventually even Thorin went to bed, Bilbo joining him with a look that suggested that they wouldn’t be discussing tactics over a mug of ale (and in all honestly, Dis was only surprised that it had taken them so long).

Dis stayed up late, crafting a more personal letter to Dain, when a cup of tea appeared at her elbow.

“Thank you, Dori,” Dis replied quietly. They had become fast friends in the last few months while they had remained in Erebor when their families had left and were facing danger. She’d missed him when he had left on the journey to the Mirrormere, his polite manners, no-nonsense attitude when dealing with a group of squabbling merchants, and his unending support in every way she had needed.

But Dori didn’t sit and join her, as had become their custom. Instead he stood in front of her and fussed with a box in his hands.

“Is something wrong?” Dis asked him in concern.

“No, my lady,” he answered, polite even though he was clearly nervous. “But… as you know, I am accompanying King Thorin on his journey to Gundabad. I know that it will be dangerous, and I would have regretted leaving before I had the chance to give you this.”

Dis opened the box he offered her and pulled out a stunning shawl, Durin blue, and speckled with silver embroidery to look like stars. “Dori, this is beautiful,” she breathed, and then looked up at his face. He seemed almost bashful. “Is this a courting gift?” she asked quietly.

Dori shook his head with a rueful little smile. “I wouldn’t dream of being so improper. I just wanted to give you something to express my admiration, and my fondness for you.”

“And if I wanted it to be a courting gift?” she asked slowly.

She had loved Fili and Kili’s father of course, still did, in fact. She was a dwarf and her affections were unending and unchanging even after death. But Dori knew that first hand too – he had lost his love in Azanulbizar, he had told her, though his brothers did not know – and perhaps there was room in her heart for another.

Dori’s eyes widened. “Then I would offer it with my whole heart. But there is no obligation – ”

Dis moved her long blond braid out of the way and swung the shawl over her shoulders. “Dori, I accept. Now come and have a cup of tea.”

Dori’s handsome face broke into a joyous smile and he sat across from her, and her heart was lightened by his company.

But after he left, it hit her that if things went badly in Gundabad, she now had even more to lose.

\---

Bilbo started awake when a dragon roared directly overhead and scrambled out of his bedroll, almost tripping over his pack.

Thorin snatched his hand just in time for them to breathe a stream of fire after the dragon, conveniently lighting up the night just in time for the rest of the company to see the dragon.

It swung around, lashing out with its claw and sending Bilbo flying, and only his mithril shirt protected him from the dragon’s talons or a cracked rib, but left him momentarily stunned as the dragon swooped after him.

Gandalf sent a bolt of energy at the dragon’s flank as the rest of the dwarves rushed to his aid but Thorin was already there. He hacked at the dragon’s side with Orcrist and Bilbo staggered at his feet and grabbed Thorin’s hand in time for them to shout “ _joor zah frul!_ ” at the dragon.

The dragon plummeted to the ground as if its wings had suddenly stopped working, and it did not fight back as it was swarmed by the dwarves. Even before its flesh dissolved, while he and Thorin were still glowing, Thorin was checking him over to make sure he was unharmed. He looked composed, but his hands were shaking.

“I’m alright,” Bilbo assured him.

“At least we know that word of power worked.” Thorin remarked thoughtfully, but he did not let go of Bilbo’s hand.

Once the excitement was over, Bilbo crawled back into his bedroll, and Thorin curled up behind him. With his eyes closed, Bilbo could hear the rest of the Company settle back to sleep as well, aside from Dwalin and Ori who seemed to be taking the opportunity of being on watch to snatch some time together.

It had been a fortnight since the day that Bilbo had woken up in Thorin’s bed in Erebor, warm and comfortable and somewhat reluctant to leave on yet another long journey. But they were over half way to Gundabad now, the mountain was getting bigger every day, and they were still doing their best to plan for every contingency they could think of when as they travelled, although it was difficult as they didn’t know entirely what to expect.

The Company, along with Gandalf and Tauriel had left Erebor first. They hoped to reach Gundabad as unnoticed as possible, slipping in and out to end the threat of Ancalagon the Black. There was a small army following behind them, made up of dwarves from Erebor and the Iron Hills, elves from Mirkwood and Lothlórien and even a few men from Dale, in case they could not escape from Gundabad without rousing the vast army of orcs that was reported to be within. The last thing that they wanted was the orcs to chase them all the way back to Erebor.

Bilbo tried to think of other ways they could counter Ancalagon, but with the tiredness caused by the long journey so far, the brief but intense fight, and Thorin warm and relaxed behind him, he was asleep before he knew it.

\---

A relatively uneventful week later, and they were at the base of Gundabad, a mountain far bigger than Erebor, in a hidden camp that was hopefully far enough away that it would not be spotted by scouts.

Kili and Tauriel had gone ahead, trying to find a way in, and the longer they took, the more nervous Bilbo became. He sat next to Ori, trying to distract himself from his thoughts by trying to listen to what Ori was muttering to himself under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” Bilbo whispered to him.

“Gundabad is a holy place to us,” Ori explained angrily. “This is where Durin awoke. The fact we’ve lost it to the orcs is painful for us.” He scowled in the direction of the mountain, as if he could already see the orcs inside.

When Tauriel and Kili eventually returned, they had good news. “There’s a side door,” Kili reported with a grin. “There are orcs coming in and out, carrying wood, and tools and things, but we should be able to slip in with a small distraction.”

Thorin nodded, and rose to his feet. “Oin, Bifur, stay here with the mounts and our gear, in case we need to leave quickly, or the campsite risks discovery.”

They both grumbled, but neither objected because they knew it was important.

“Now we just need a distraction to get in,” Kili said, “and I have the perfect one in mind.”

They crept over a few at a time to the place that Tauriel indicated, where they could see the crude workshop that the orcs had constructed outside the door.

The orcs had strung up a lantern over a pile of wood, and when they were ready, Kili rose smoothly and fired at the lantern. It shattered, spilling oil and sparks all over the wood, which started to blaze.

As the orcs fought over who was to blame, they slipped through the unguarded door and into Gundabad.

Balin sighed, looking around them at the filthy architecture and defaced statues. “I wish we were here under different circumstances.”

Dwalin clapped him on the shoulder as Gandalf looked around them.

“I can sense magic being used lower down,” he informed them.“Try to avoid using any words of power unless you must – you will alert the whole mountain to our presence.”

“This passage looks like it heads down,” Bofur informed them, poking his head down one corridor.

Thorin nodded. “Good enough. Let’s go.” He drew Orcrist and led the way.

They trailed down the corridor as silently as possible. A few times, they had to make detours and unexpected twists and turns to avoid patrolling orcs as they went lower and lower. The mountain was dark this low down, darker than even Erebor had been the first time Bilbo entered, and he struggled to see the path even with the dim light Gandalf was conjuring. He was holding Thorin’s hand more so he wouldn’t fall off the edge of the corridor than so they could use their powers.

Bilbo had no idea how long they had been walking. He had lost all sense of time, although none of the dwarves seemed to struggle with that.

“The magic is much closer now,” Gandalf announced, but as he did so, they went around a corner and stumbled into a group of orcs, led by Azog.

There was a split second of shock before the two groups rushed each other, and Azog headed straight to Thorin, separating him from the rest of them, moving him close to the edge of the walkway.

“Thorin!” Dwalin shouted, fighting his way over to him frantically, and Bilbo struck out at the orc in front of him, trying to help.

He leapt over a fallen orc and grabbed Thorin’s hand as he took a step back. As Azog rushed forward, Thorin exchanged a quick knowing glance and they shouted “ _fus ro dah!_ ”

Azog flew over the ledge, forced backwards by the word of power. The rest of the orcs paused in shock, and were quickly despatched. Even when the fight was over, their voices was still echoing throughout the mountain.

“I thought we were avoiding using your power,” Gandalf said with a scowl.

Thorin only sheathed his sword, not looking sorry in the slightest. “We’ll just have to hurry,” he suggested. They could already hear sounds of perusal.

The kept running, further and further down, until Bilbo could hear the dragon language being spoken. He recognised the words of power being used.

“They’re reviving Ancalagon!” Thorin shouted, obviously also recognising the words of power that they had found in Mirkwood.

Bilbo crept to the edge of walkway and peered down. What had once been a cavern or mine had been opened up into a vast chamber, and Ancalagon’s bones had been lain out in order, although even with the size of the cavern, the wings and tail bones were curved around on each other as there was not enough room for them to all fit.

There were six dragon priests in a circle around those bones, oblivious to their presence and the sound of combat above them, chanting “ _slen tild vo!_ ” over and over again. Flesh, time, undo.

“They’ve gathered as many of the bones as they’ve found but are missing,” Gandalf observed. “That’s why the magic isn’t working.”

But even as he spoke, Ancalagon’s skeletal wings started shuddering, his claws twitching. Instead of the words of power renewing the dragon’s flesh, the bones started moving, powered by a vast writhing shadow.

“This is what I saw in Galadriel’s mirror!” Bilbo realised, and Thorin nodded grimly beside him.

“It must be done now,” he said as the shadow-and-bone dragon attempt to rise, “before he is fully awoken.”

As they spoke, the sounds of pursuing orcs grew closer. “We’ll hold them off,” Dwalin promised, squeezing past Thorin to go back the way they had come. “You deal with the dragon.”

Most of the Company followed him, aside from Kili, Tauriel and Gandalf, and the sounds of combat soon followed. Bilbo gripped his sword, trying not to panic at the realisation that his friends were risking their lives to give him and Thorin a chance.

He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to think. “We can try and use the shout that Azaghal taught us, and drown them out with our word of power.”

“If we call Azaghal before we do that, we’ll have another voice on our side,” Thorin agreed urgently, reaching for Bilbo’s hand.

Kili and Tauriel both drew their bows. “Once you’ve called him, we’ll deal with the dragon priests,” Kili told him.

“ _Hun kaal zoor!_ ” they shouted, voices echoing across the chamber and disrupting the dragon priests’ chant. Their voices wavered, but Ancalagon was already stretching and circling in the bottom of the chamber.

Azaghal materialised beside them, his face grim, incorporeal weapon in his hand, taking the situation in with a single glance. “The word of power I taught you?” he asked rhetorically, and Thorin nodded once.

As Kili and Tauriel fired at two dragon priests, and Gandalf sent a pulse of energy at another, Bilbo, along with Thorin and Azaghal cried out _“joor zah frul!_ ”

Ancalagon shadowy form faltered, a few bones shaking loose and clattering to the floor.

“Again!” Thorin shouted as Kili and Tauriel fired for the second time, and again they shouted “ _joor zah frul!_ ”

Ancalagon roared, impossibly loud, stones shaking loose from the ceiling. He extended his vast wings that stretched from wall to wall of the chamber, flapped them once, and took to the air. Even in his incomplete form, he was so massive he struggled to manoeuvre in the small space.

“ _Joor zah frul!_ ” they shouted again, and by this time the dragon priests had all been killed, and the only voices in the chambers was theirs. Ancalagon screamed, and with a beat of his wing, knocked Bilbo over the edge, bellowing ghostly flames that hurt despite not burning.

Thorin’s cried out “ _joor zah frul!_ ” his voice desperate, but somehow it was enough even though they were not touching. The shadowy form within Ancalagon died away, and his bones rained down to the bottom of the chamber.

Bilbo just had enough time to register the fact that Thorin was glowing on the ledge above him, before something hit him on the head, and knocked him out.

\---

When Bilbo awoke with a groan, he was in a tent, tucked under a blanket wearing a tunic that was much too large to be his, his clothes, armour and weapons in a neat pile next to him.

After a sudden panicked thought, he reached out to his jacket and searched in his pocket until, pleased, he found his magic ring. He would have hated it if he had lost his ring when he had fallen.

He put it under his pillow just as the tent flap opened, and Thorin entered, obviously trying to be quiet, as he assumed that Bilbo was asleep. The look of naked relief on his face when he realised that Bilbo was awake drove all thoughts of his ring out of his mind.

“You’re awake,” Thorin said, coming to sit next to him and taking his hand. “I was starting to worry.”

“I’m awake,” he agreed with a smile. Thorin had a few scratches, but he looked otherwise unharmed, if exhausted. “What happened?”

“Ancalagon knocked you off the ledge,” Thorin said, his face grim with the memory.

“I remember that part,” Bilbo told him, squeezing his hand to reassure him. “What happened next?”

“I shouted the word of power, and it worked, even though we were not touching,” Thorin explained. “Gandalf said that our powers are stronger now, because we’ve absorbed so many dragon souls. But I was desperate and I didn’t know then that it had worked until I saw you glowing on the cavern floor. And then Ancalagon’s thigh bone hit you on the head and knocked you out.”

“So heroic,” Bilbo chuckled, and Thorin leaned forwards and pressed their foreheads together.

“You were,” Thorin murmured. “You are.”

“And you’re a flatterer,” Bilbo counted with a smile, “and I love you.”

“I love you too,” Thorin replied earnestly. “So please don’t frighten me like that again.”

Bilbo lay back on the bed, shifting over so Thorin could join him. He was very tired, not just from his injury, but from the months and months of travelling.

“Is everyone else alright?” Bilbo asked and Thorin nodded.

“I used the whirlwind shout to get to you, picked you up, and then we fought our way out of the mountain. When the orcs followed us, they met our army. With Azog dead, and so many orcs killed here, we shouldn’t have any real trouble from orcs for a long time, and while Gandalf said that there are still dragons in the north, there are none that compare to the threat that Ancalagon the Black posed. ”

“Does that mean we can go home then?” Bilbo asked with a yawn.

“To the Shire?” Thorin asked, his voice careful.

“Only if that’s where you’re going,” Bilbo replied, smiling.

“Maybe next summer, for a holiday,” Thorin replied, his voice light but his relief real. “If I leave Dis ruling alone for much longer she’ll probably banish me.”

“She does have a lot on her mind at the moment,” Bilbo said sleepily. “What with Dori courting her and all.”

“Wait, what?” Thorin said, but Bilbo was already asleep.

When he woke next time, Thorin and Dain were talking quietly in the other side of tent.

“Good to see you again, hobbit,” Dain said with a smile, before he clonked his forehead against Thorin’s and left.

“Something wrong?” he asked, not able to read Thorin’s expression.

“No,” he answered. “He was just letting me know that the Arkenstone has been found in the treasury.”

“You must be pleased,” Bilbo said, and Thorin shrugged, coming over to take his hand.

“There are more important things,” he said, and Bilbo smiled, content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this fic for two years, I can't believe it's actually done!
> 
> With thanks again to kurosmind for the original idea (and all the apologies in the world that it has taken this long) and to mithrilbikini for the beautiful art.
> 
> If you've read this far, I'd love to know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the dragonborn prophecy in-game.


End file.
